My wolves are at war,
Angry ******* beasts,
Mapping out their territory,
Tattooing stigmata on my flesh,
Haunting my moon,
My soul a ****** battleground,
Stripped bones,
Marrow ****** dry.

At the first speck of dawn,
I am their master,
Shackling my beasts,
To distant lands,
Decaying facades and dead spirits.
My wolves howl,
Begging,
Feed me,
Break my chains,
Set me free.

When my mind wants to stretch as high as the sky

and  my soul would move in as deep as an ocean,

When my voice needs to reverberate earth's every nook and corner;

and  my body longs for a space to breathe my life out,

Oh Mankind! Why did you imprison me?

into that clusters of tradition I didn't choose for,

into those chains of men I didn't opt for,

into the god-forbidden civilization I didn't ask for

and into the clutches of death I didn't seek for.

amidst domesticated minds is Me, the caged bird

waiting for the vault to open and the closet to collapse for I know,

Strangulated souls will be liberated by death! -

the death of narrow-mindedness!

She was a bird locked in a cage, so she never knew how to fly.
The only sound she ever made, was a soft cry.
No wonder why she felt like she never belong,
she was such a beautiful bird, but without a song.

Let me fly high
Breaking all ******* by
Let them see
All my wisery
Defining the path
Alonging the sea
By passing all the misery !!

And it's not that
I can lay the blame
for my obsession at your door
For it was me
who draped your words
with added meaning
dangling the gossamer sheets
from the paltry phrases
that fell a little too carelessly
from your cursed mouth,
never guessing ,even once,
that they would wind up serving
as iron blinds
*for my caged soul

Over and over,
this smooth sound is going through one
ear and the other, the settle sound
of the rushing of blood
flowing through my ever shedding,
ever alleviating body, by nature? NO.
Still accompanied by the "truth," my human
parts being made without molded clay,
all of them free now, a part of something many
find "naughty."
You can find similarities in the mountains,
in the various hills arches, like the back, the neck,
the lift of the full volume of your chest,
You reach for the toothbrush, the comb,
ashamed; your hair in tangles, of the teeth that decay,
though one time you shall see how the
chest is so filled with pain. Nevermind.
We all don't care about that pain until it happens that
eventual day. This human body made "without perfections,"
it continues to smell, to pleasure or suffer, to be hungry,
to find itself wrapped up in it's sole need for ***.
We must remember to be clean for inspections.
No exceptions, no matter what is being said.
It will keep clawing, keep scratching, until it finds it's
way out, once it escapes it's metal cage.