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She Longs To Be Free

She paints a life in soft-spun gold,   A dream where love won’t lose its hold.   She speaks of mornings, hand in hand,   Of simple joys, a life well-planned.   She whispers of a quiet home,   Of love that never needs to roam.   She swears that all she wants is me,   But I can see—she longs to be free.   Her eyes drift past the life she draws,   A longing laced between her pause.   She craves the world beyond our door,   Yet tells herself she wants no more.   No walls can hold a restless heart,   No love can make her torn soul part.   She wants this life—she swears it's true,   But deep inside, she’s passing through.
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Mbala

In a shop of drums, Mbala stands,
Amidst the rhythms and the bands.
Her eyes alight with curiosity,
In a world of beats, a vibrant sea.

But a sign catches her gaze,
Bold and clear in its phrase:
"You bang it, you buy it," it reads,
A warning echoing through the reeds.

With gentle touch, she explores,
Each drum, each beat, each encore.
Careful not to disturb the air,
Yet longing to feel the music's flare.

Mbala dances on the edge,
Between temptation and the pledge.
To unleash the thunder within her soul,
Yet wary of the price, the toll.

For in this shop of drums so grand,
Each beat carries a demand.
To own the rhythm, to make it sing,
But at what cost, what offering?

So Mbala stands, in quiet awe,
Respecting the rule, the law.
For though the drums may call her name,
She leaves them be, untamed.

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