A CRY FOR FREEDOM © 2008

Men are occupied with millions,

And I, in this lap embedded with emotions.

What to do, heart? Tear the blank pages

To bury the writing?

Or let the soul, in tears,

Unleash itself in the empty lines?

Can the verses save

This deep silence, this disillusionment?

While they count what glitters,

I count the whispers that the chest carries.

Each word is a flame to be ignited,

And on the torn pages, perhaps, I will live.

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