At times he’ll give blood and at times he’ll hide his identity behind the ink of his pen,
He’ll revolt but in a silent way, a path not taken by many men.
The pursuit of truth is his aim and to tear off the mask of injustice is his dream,
But his words sometime fall on deaf ears, no matter how much they scream.
The anger of the cane marks on his skin are let out by the words he writes on a page,
And the neglect for his words that don’t bring about change is what puts him in a blind rage.
But he took the noble way, for he picked up a pen and not a sword,
He’s a rare kind, for he still believes in and fears his lord.
He owes nothing, nothing but the truth that flows within his ink,
A truth he’s expected to hold onto and tell until his eyes can see them and can blink.
The heat of truth burns his hand but with a smile on his lips this pain he can take,
For the hope gives him strength, hope of the change that his words will make.
He roams around looking for a way to bring about a change in the society that lies each day,
A way to make his words find the culprit and to make him pay.
And so he braves the harsh conditions, the people, and fights the systems plan,
For he’s a writer and a member of humanity but he’s no country’s man.

That blunt rusted knife
In the clammy night
The boy heard it slice
He heard it slice
Through the night
Before his eyes
As cold as ice

The rusted blade
As the killer made
Way through shade
In wanton hate
Toward the room
In candlelit gloom
The bride and groom

First in desire locked
Then in passion screamed
Then in horror shocked
The blade's dying sheen
He sliced and carved
For he was starved
Redress for broken heart

The boy didn't move
He knew it true
The world was cruel
He saw ****** too
Not once or twice
Could he save their lives
His own made it thrice

Now his spirit walks
In silent morbid shock
The world undone
For a soul so young
Moon and skin are pale
The boy doesn't wail
He doesn't wail

Only the night bird knows
Where the night song goes
Before the crack of dawn
Before the stretch and yawn
That lonely haunting song
Of the night bird drawn
On my bedroom wall
And my night bird sings
About so many things
Of what we are scared
About our nightmares
Of our hopes and dreams
The words we seldom mean
My night bird sings
About all these things
Until someone opens my door
And walks in sore
With a restless mouth
From my door in south
Honestly I'd rather hear
My night bird near
On the western wall
Something always wrong
When I try to recall
My night bird's song
I can never hum
Not even a single one
Of the night bird's tunes
Hoping for sunset soon
For only the night birds knows
Where the night song goes
It then finds and captures
The night song of our rapture
So when darkness falls
I hear that enchanted song

Somewhere someone is going
Without anyone even knowing
Across massive rivers of blood
In the young revolution flood

While the mothers in black hide
Their tears which now have dried
Out of bloodshot sleepless eyes
Across vast open miles and miles

Mothers with their sons throwing
Themselves into the river flowing
And with tireless soldiers of God
All for the long forgotten cause

The blasted and wounded call
They cry for battle but never fall
What is war for widows and mothers
What is freedom for young lovers

There is only endless years of waiting
There is only loneliness and hating
And somewhere someone is going
Without anyone ever knowing