Like a bleeding wound from bullet holes
of the ambushed soldier in the street of Mogadishu,
passion pours out from love.
The black Mogadishu boy smiled, firing his rifle
at the right moment, his target within range,
a different Cupid but as sharp.
Like black smoke ascending from the military jeep,
burning, with rebels dancing around him,
love knows when to claim victory.
Like burns from explosives, love can scorch
your heart with passion, leaving behind scars.
You will remember even after wounds heal.
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