I hate the idea of cultureAnd I love itThey tell me that I’m tied down to my beliefsThat I believe because I am
Because of the colour of my skinLike it wasn’t a choice that I madeTo seek, while HE was there to be found
A cell
The Almond Festival
Nestled in the Moroccan mountains, The scarlet, dusty terrainBlends with the evening sky. I hearMusic soaring, lifting hearts’ strings,And savoury meat sizzling on the fire.People are bustling through the streetsThe seasonal festival is in fullSwing.
