Loza

Loza   A century and a half not doing my haul of mud, even if it is scoured and forgotten in the bottom of a stream. I am the daughter of the house of mud taken from the wife, the man has created the mother of nations, a burden too great to bear alone the balance I like china in my head. This young girl in the bloom of youth-ray my teeth white plaster my chest, the neck, ready to be plucked in the season, red and ripe. Tuing on my way to the proper balance between current events, the men after smelling the scent of my akwete material, like him, as the heat in goat eyes dripping into puddles on my foot. What they say about me? NNE come and greet me. Viril than men are, who want to demonstrate that the virility. China'm balanced with braided hair care groped after the first cast skilled potters knead with your fingers, a piece of art catch the eye, which was first noticed in a market day when they left and cracked broken, mine is the dissemination of content. (Taken from? Without a name? A collection of poetry by Val. K., forthcoming). Val. K. is a poet and a lover of nature. A collection of his poems "Without Name" will soon be published by AuthorHouse, USA For a personal contact, send mail to: leviathandepthsretus@yahoo.com