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They use their voice
at the behest of good reason.
After perfecting the words like edge of an spear
and marking the victims that they will pursue.
Then with ease and sincerity
they release a volley of arrows.
An arrow will pierce our flesh,
with this hope we too stand at the frontlines.
The name must be forgotten
for the burden to disappear.
All that is us, hangs by a thread.
All that is us, answers to our name.
Memories must be played on a loop
for us to remember.
Misery, come wait by our side.
For happiness cannot be far behind.
Wounds must be sliced open once again,
to remember that we can heal.
We stood here once,
who will know of this ?
That which is of clay
will return to clay.
What breathes now
will lie still then.
Flowers will draw life.
Flowers will bloom.
Flowers will wither away.
Who will know?
Who cares.
Maybe like you, I too prefer the veil.
Unaware you might be of my existence
yet you run to the window.
When the messenger by your doorway,
recites my verses.
Recites my soul.
A bazaar has been setup.
A carnival rages.

Bodies, innocence.
Souls, dignity.
Laws, customs.
Love, hate.

Everything is being bought.
Everyting is being sold.

Even though we are mere beggars,
we must pitch our tents somewhere else.
Somewhere far from this accursed place.
They tell us that our world is spinning.
Indeed it must be,
look how we go round and round
tracing the same paths.
Look how we fall each time,
how we are brought back to life again.
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