Your Concierge

The mind is called a Satan

The way it has gone through my mind

I hate to call me dignified

I have my own mental fallacies

Of which the Satan have his hands

Today I am utterly beckoned

Of my deeds and me being a mere woman

I disguised myself to be another of flesh

The act wherein I wanted freedom

My Lord , Is this me who wrote about you

So lovingly and from my beautiful bosom

The mind was full of spiritual presence

and then of something else to be pity about

But the life wherein I wanted you...

In my heart of mixed feelings and sentiments

I am what I wanted to be ,

Then I am just a wrath of a flesh

Meagre mind , call it a bison of nil heart

What difference does it make?

Then you have finished your work with me

Lord, I feel a diminished you in me...

And the medication is making the havoc

Null and void is what I have for you

You have crushed me in your arms

Vanishing all the angelic powers

Of which I boasted of every other day

What are all those just the feelings

Of a wrecked mind busy with truth findings

Atlast what lay before me is a void heart

Void of the Lord and his truthfulness

And ashamed of how feelings just pass away

And you are just away for me

I am busy with my chores of work and life

With little of my Lord and my schedules

For him