The water in my canteen has been cooled,
On the windowsill from the cold night's wind,
I wrapped myself with all the warmth I could muster,
The heating desire witnessing the future and its change,
I am stuck in my room-cell,
Unable to move from their forces caving in,
Until they call for me to do the meager chores of life,
Then back,
Unwashed,
To my cave and etchings,
Where I have been for so long.