My Bare Hand

I stand bare,
On the rotten soil,
Dirty clay sagger,
Blood dropping as beats,
Portrays of marks behind,
Sculptured from the best hands,
I search for good air,
The smell of pain nauseates me,
The wind carries echoes,
Echoes of misty false,
They judged me witchcraft,
They tell me off to die,
They say I die from the gods
Persecutes me to the forbidden land,
They beautified me with hot spits,
They crafted horrible words at me,
They say I bewitch unborn babies,
They say babies look animal,
They say my herbs are evil,
They want me no more,
But they forget I delivered sane babes,
I cleansed evil voodoo,
I fought death battles,
The gods play role in mysteries,
I am only an intermediary.

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