"confining" poems
In time you’ll recover and absolve
push those scorned impressions aside
hammer down the jaded edges
and sing
that delightful commoners song
the one you sang so well
in what seems a lifetime ago
You really had it you know
that fiery disposition and nimble cunning
those butter chords and derelict style
we could see it -- we could all see it
it was all it took to turn the evening tide
(and rile that buck fever)
heads bashing
tongues lambasting
middle fingers high
and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen
There were no rules
when it came to your survival
no textbook rally or common bond
no structured songbird or bravado stage
you either made it, or laid it
“life by the ***** Mr. Poppy would say
a kaleidoscope of dreams
with rich colored imagery
hardened artisan seams
in a carefully woven motif
But something got lost in the needle point
something sinister and distorted took hold
the quirks and street genius
that were your lifeline
gave way to grunts
and squeals
and chilling night crawlers
the colors faded quickly
to a cold confining grey
There was no grace in the new world
no retribution or switch back
no salvation or accorded finale
only edged platforms of blackened steel
that kept you cased
in a silent vanquished cell
shivering cold with fear
night without day
all in the shadow of death
But time heals all
and the polish sneakers
and open sores are long gone
(though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain)
indeed the falconer beat the widow maker
this go around
and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again
and if it does you’ll see me
standing hand on heart
with that old verse in hand:
he ain’t tainted
or silly,
and most certainly
not forgotten…
he ain’t loony
or fixed,
or a product of his self-doing…
he’s just a straight shootin’ guy,
who had the most of it
figured out
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
If you gotta dream, show me
Reveal it to the world
And own it
If you gotta passion,
Disown your inaction
And make a habit of climbing the steep hill of your goals,
Or else dissatisfaction will echo in your soul
Go after your dreams fearlessly,
You've got all the potential you need,
Just find the why for the motivation you lack,
Conjure the reasons why you've laid low and cut yourself slack,
Well, you can't hide behind excuses no more,
Because you're a dazzling star and you're too bright to hide behind confining bars
You think you're a nobody?
Too scared to show your true colors?
Hey, you better get out there on that red carpet and like a peacock flaunt all your magnificent beauty,
And not even for a moment doubt yourself
Or listen to the chickens cluck **** about you on the sidelines
You've got a dream
Stop hiding it under your bed
And make it into your reality
You ain't think life got magic,
But it's full of meaning
Once you awaken from your brain dead anxiety
Because you worry too much of what people think of you
Your heart will come alive, beating with all the colors of the rainbow and the music you love will revive you,
I speak from experience,
Stop letting your fears hold you back,
Because they are just lies
No one is gonna believe in your dream as much as you do,
Not until you accomplish what you dream of, when you get there then they'll believe you
What else have you got to live for
But your dream!
It's your purpose
And it's your responsibility
To make your dream a reality
Not until then will you be able to see
The magic that both surrounds us and lives inside of you and me.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 4:44 AM UTC
When did you become a stormy sea of obsession?
Confining in all of your ways
Renouncing all moves in any direction
When one does not yield to the calls, you play
Attempts to govern unclipped wings can be exhausting
The very thought is so gravely insane
Yet you still despondently try to cage in free spirits
With those borders you set and maintain
You reveal uncertainty in your own validation
In the faith you hold in your own
When you desperately try to close off the sky
From free spirits thirsting to roam
Did you know that your borders are guarded by insecurity?
They are useless and protected in vain
Take a look inside the cages you obsessively provide
Not a single free spirit remains
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 6:31 PM UTC
The cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, in full bloom.
Below the koi fish swim round, round in circles.
The sun reflects off silk kimonos with a shine radiant, dazzling,
With red lips against painted white skin, blindingly beautiful.
A walk like unraveling ribbon,
And hair like ink, bound tightly a few strands bound for escape.
Untouched skin tainted by stares, clipped wings useless for an escape,
Freedom comes in the hope of riding a cherry blossom, swelling in bloom.
The leaves swirl to the ground, spiraling in nature’s ribbon.
The glares of tigers ********** her, kimono falling to her feet in circles,
Eyes of blue, green, never turning away, trapping those beautiful,
The nature of a hidden world, shaming and stunning, confining yet so dazzling.
The snap of the gold-trimmed fan weaving in and out, dazzling
The crowd with effortless twists and turns; clenched tightly, no room for escape.
A dance of untamed water in a disturbingly beautiful
Unity of desire and fright. A young bud not on the verge of bloom
Thrown into a crowd of tigers to be spun in uncontrollable circles
And entrapped by the unflinching gazes in silk ribbon.
The game is simple: mesmerize a pack with grace of ribbon,
Attend engagements that ask for a dance, tea pouring, but never dazzling
That pure smile too brightly. Fool the ***** tigers to follow in circles,
But never trust a tiger that promises a chance of escape.
Never fall for love’s first bloom,
Never become the next to lose the light. Stay pure and stay beautiful.
A kimono is only as pure and as beautiful
As the woman underneath. By cutting the ribbon
Of virginity by a friendly lamb, instead of tiger’s bidding for the bloom,
Only leads to the fall of a shooting star, gracing the sky with its dazzling
Beauty, and the hope and wish of an everlasting escape
Is crushed by the weight of a soapy rag, washing away the hope in circles.
Though the pain of the cage binds the mind in endless circles,
Though tigers ignored the aching backs and blistered feet, staring at only the beautiful,
It is better, safer to stay in the hidden world, banishing all thoughts of an escape.
Keep the tigers in a tight ribbon,
Stay young, fresh, never letting the mind wander away from dazzling,
And never fall like a cherry blossom after its first bloom.
A walk like unraveling ribbon,
The sun reflects off the silk kimono with a shine that never ceases from dazzling,
And forever watching the cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, fall in full bloom.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
A strange kind of people
whose hegemonic ways dictate
and justify them
to exhort their rituals upon outsiders
and breathe fire on those
who refuse.
They have people called Slareneg
whose job it is to decide the fate
of the outsiders.
They claim to be receptive
of foreign rites
but are known to somehow be able to
coerce others into
blindly discerning matters their way.
They even have a history of
confining their own,
the ones they care not for at least,
to do their bidding for them
even though they are of akin heritage.
These people also defecate in the same place
where they consume meals.
They are backwards.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC
I’ll protect the innocent
even while I may proclaim
my deep regard for who they are
controversy may be exclaimed
guiltless stated for my friends
this word is used at its most broad
when all children of the divine
deserve their refuge from abuse
even while I seek to proclaim
my admiration for their grit
stepping outside confining realms
leading the way for this questing one
on the shoulders of the perverse
this is how the public may respond
declaring wisdom I don’t share
when I see threads of commonality
in my heart I know we are the same
seeking power in our own way
being true to ourselves
while expressing how we live
humanity searching for a voice
I’ll add mine to the chorus
admitting that I’ve fallen far
while ascending to the heights
spectrums ranged in pursuit
my honest nature at last found
though at first I wrongly thought
I was alone when I was not
the free spirits led the way
I wish my voice could exclaim
and still I hold back my breath
protecting innocent like myself.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180909.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
Stained are teeth, and fingers yellow,
Softly whispered lies we keep.
Smoke unfurls in breath so mellow,
Promising but sinking deep.
Coiling tendrils, soft and clever,
Lull the mind in fleeting grace.
Cinder ghosts that warm, yet sever,
Leave their embers on the face.
Every spark—a pledge unwinding,
Every drag—a weight we bear.
Sworn to comfort, yet confining,
Clinging to a thinning air.
Jan 31, 2025
Jan 31, 2025 at 1:14 AM UTC
Unto Him I am glued
my King of Prussia.
oxytocin- dopamine dilated
his pupils inside his blue green
as I entered Him, eons ago,
and never came out
He left but returned to my abode
for me or his Tequila.
I wanted to fall down crying beg him to take me with him to his heaven
Saving me from the hellish existence
But pain was greater then tears to convince HIM.
~~
Into his song YESTERDAY I merged
and with one voice we often sing it
from that time on and on.
I became his song his moon and stars.
Although our fame sleeps
as beauty rested in a glass coffin;
with one leap across the gap
chaos that one butcher
with medical ignorant lies
opened up and three
of us got evaporated.
With one song each in heart
we bridged that chasm.
In his art we thrive yet for long.
To Him to his heart of gold
I slowly walk to, his ancient bride.
Into our holy temple of forever,
straight to his heart and open arms
United in one single thought.
Our own Taj Majal
to reign we did plan to build.
Into mine eye pupils, grasping
all of his substance in
his light projecting all was received
My intergalactic time traveler.
Interchangeable we are.
In me he finds more than wisdom
he finds truth a true artist.
Our true love bittersweet.
Before Him I Joyfully crumble kneeling
As he embraces my swollen
teary eyes and merging me
Into to his heart and arms
I surrender grace, charm
and complete trust.
There!
In confining solitude
In the darkest of mine nights
My brightest sunny days
it's him I hear, love and seek.
I understand, worship
and adore him forever more
He's my true love! Luna tell Him!
That I love him the most.
~~~~~~
Mr. And Mrs Andrew
And Karijinbba.
All rights reserved
Mar 17, 2022
Mar 17, 2022 at 4:10 PM UTC
A place in which I know nothing about, an unknown world
A world unlike any I have ever known to exist, an opposite of this reality
A place only to be traveled to by deep sleep or sweet reverie
A world of pure innocence and raw creativity, a world of adventure and fantasy
A place where you can fly into the cosmos
And soar through the universe until you become nothing but sparkling stardust
A realm where blood isn't pumping through your veins, but rather what flows through is stardust
A world within a world
A realm where physicalities are meaningless and existence lies within the cosmos
A world that causes you to question your own rendition of the word "reality"
A realm that both defines and illustrates the meaning of the word "fantasy"
And is inherently bigger than any one dream or reverie
Something like that of an endless reverie
A myriad of universes and ever-glowing stardust
Something like that of an endless fantasy
A myriad of imaginings and an ever-growing illusory world
Something like that of a castle in the sky, nothing like that of harsh reality
A myriad of thoughts that turn into pictures and skies that turn into the cosmos
Have you ever journeyed into the cosmos?
Through shut eyes and intense dreaming or through glassy eyes and pleasant reverie?
Have you ever left this reality?
Joined the entities of another realm, disintegrated into the galaxy and became stardust?
Have you ever traveled to another world?
Became another entity, fully embraced a potent fantasy?
I wish to travel to this place and immerse myself in the fantasy
I want to become one with the cosmos
And escape the physical world
I wish to travel to this place and immerse myself in the reverie
I want to become one with the universe through the merging of our inner reaching stardust
And escape this tugging reality
Nothing is more terrifying or confining than what I know as reality
Nothing is more appealing or liberating than what I know as fantasy
I am a soul and I am stardust
I am the universe and I am the cosmos
I am a dream and a reverie
All within a world outside of a world
A place existing outside the lines of reality, a place within easy reach of the cosmos
A world born unto fantasy, a world fueled through reverie
A realm overpowered by stardust, a realm that is not of this world
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
I am sitting at a desk,
back straight, head forward, eyes open. Blink.
Economics melts into white noise as
supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, elasticity.
Water weeps through the crevasses of the windows and ceiling,
mocking my ever fragile existence.
Ankle deep in yesterday's cold forgotten words unsaid,
the lesson advances.
Demand curves become supply curves become demand curves, consumer surplus.
A single drop christens my desk and terror fills my long hollow eyes
as the ceiling mutates into a congregation of puddles.
Rain that felt of hydrochloric acid
dissolved the very flesh I tried to escape.
God is not so sweet when it comes to sinners,
confining me to the barriers of an insignificant wooden desk.
The class remains like mannequins,
indifference radiating from their plastic cores.
Supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, externalities.
The only witness to this nightmare,
my last breathe finally deserts me.
I tense as the numbing waves climb up my spine,
injecting lethargy in each individual vertebra.
Malicious tentacles wrap around my throat and water floods my collapsing black lungs.
White noise consumes the entire classroom as I float in and out of paralysis,
only to open my eyes. Blink.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
The
path leading
to radical acceptance
originates with a pause.
Stepping out of your solitude,
promptly let go of fear-driven reactivity.
Embracing and accepting all of your being,
surround yourself with the warmth of loving kindness.
Begin now to forgive yourself and others again and again.
Know that your capacity to be completely open brings wholeness.
There are no formulas for navigating all of life’s situations.
Listen with your natural intelligence and wise heart then,
by breaking out of the old confining patterns,
freedom and healing are yours to hold.
As awareness to truth deepens.
show gratitude to life
that is now
open for
you
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
viewer discretion is advised. The following program has graphic images that may not be suitable for all audiences
The television stains my eyes
I can barely see myself in the mirror
While steady reporters shed not one tear
Don't you see the dead behind you?
Don't you feel the pain of their families
While you just "tell the story"?
27 dead, most of which young children, in a school shooting
The sickness creeps into my bones
Its impact rattles my spine
Debilitating me, confining me to a stupor
Why? Why?
Why end such bright futures and presents?
Do you not see the damage that you've done?
Do you not feel the blood pouring from
Your own body? Do you?
back to you, overpaid talking man
A three minute blurb
That's it
Hundreds of people have been forever changed
Millions more afraid
And all you can do is harass them
Beg for interviews
While they still are in disbelief?
But beyond that
You show it over and over and over
All with the political lean
Of your respective stations
Could you not stop for once
And let mourners mourn?
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Dark limitless halls
Chair wobbling,
sitting strategically
Not dead
Nor alive
In the middle comprised
Scattered thoughts
Hate, frustration, paranoia
Confining
Self -reliance
Life of defiance
"Why must I suffer,"
ready to die
Creation made for a different environment
A voice whispering,
"Look up there is a sky"
Baffled, she now remembers her grace
A new place
A world
Universe in the making
The black was only the beginning
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 5:55 PM UTC
Built up tears,
A dam released,
Violent movements,
Punching bags.
And all at once,
It liberated itself
Of its confining chains.
Alone,
An empty house,
All that movement in still air,
Very much hoping to be heard.
And the irony
of not knowing how to explain.
Harsh tears,
Ripped heart,
A voice made coarse,
Anger,
Frustration,
Fused a total meltdown.
An agonising cry,
Desparate movements replay
On days when feelings numb down,
And a hole widens from deep within,
Projecting from an empty shell,
Onto a vastly absent world.
All the kicking,
The punching,
Sore knuckles,
Aching knees,
Swollen eyes,
Dripping sweat,
An utterly spent heart.
And a hot scalding bath later,
An hour or so,
When souls filled a place called home,
It was as though nothing ever happened,
Simply a day well spent,
Rather eventful.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
Take me with you,
Through the classroom windows from where i flew,
In the garden where memories grew,
To the childhood where all the wounds were new
Over the horizons which I once knew,
To the mountains which I once drew,
Crack wide open my world in two,
Take me with you,
Take me anywhere,
Closer to you or away from myself
Take a box full of spray paints and spray paint over the walls confining me,
Paint a star, the sun and the moon and you,
Paint a rainbow,
Paint me red, green and yellow
Paint the sky, blue and grey
Paint the clouds, infinite and immaculate
Paint a tree, alive and withered
And a seesaw just to keep reminding me that we cannot rise together
**** me in the friend zone
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
Would you love her?
If her hair fell free
Locks sway on her shoulder
Wind catches them boldly
Sunlight will invade them
Brown blaze of strands
If you could see them play
Confining her forlorn face
Would run your fingers slowly?
If she sets them free
If she let them flow
A Rapunzel is what you need?
A glance of that entangled mane
Would be enough to drive you insane?
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC
TW: suicide / cancer / brutal imagery
july isn't a good month for me
it is a collection of all the things
i have had taken away. it is a
bitter winter chill through a
summer i do not get to enjoy.
july is lonely.
it breaks apart all the other months
like a pack of werewolves; it is
their alpha and i have six months
before everyday is a full moon
and my legs are tired of running
from it. i have six months to
enjoy the fresh scent of crisp air,
to feel the iciness of snow without
shivering through my skin. i try
to break out of this body, try to
knit myself a new one out of
preloved sweaters hoping their
stories will become my own so that
i may have a july worth talking about.
suicide happens all year round but
your suicide happened in july and
has happened every month in my
mind since. i have lost count of the
way i try to contact you to say
i'm sorry.
maybe my spiritual journey wasn't
my own; i convince myself the
universe will show me your face again
one day and i hope it is not in july.
people suffer from cancer throughout
everyday of the year but you suffered
in july. i watched the sunset through
hospital windows, smelt more chemicals
than fresh flowers, held back more
tears than my throat knew how to
swallow. has anyone ever drowned
without being submerged in water?
i have.
i imagined cracking my skull off the
glass confining you to this ward, to
this smell of microwave meals and
this buzzing of machines echoing
like an emergency and my heart is
on standby, i imagined it would give
the ward some colour because i am
so sick of seeing white.
and this july
this july,
i hold your hand as your treatment
continues. i do not feel the sun on
my face because you cannot feel it
on yours. i watch the sunset through
windows. carry the bodybag of my
soul around in "i'm fine" and "i'm okay."
i don't think my voice could drip
with any more sadness as i envision the
words cascading down glass panels
hoping if i spell it out for the world
to see, someone will stop and ask me
why i hate july, or at least,
if i'm okay.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 5:26 PM UTC
They told me to take things back to the 90's
Take things back to the heart
Told me I should have done this from the start.
But the views from my six are contoured.
Covered in foundations of fuckboys, fuckgirls and blessers.
So tell me how do I express my heart when this generation believes the only functioning ***** should be brain,
Because heart will **** you
And the others are going to die from harmful ingestions.
They told me to take it back to the 90's.
Take things back to the heart.
So here I go.
The basis of my poetry has always been pain.
My heart and soul always confining in a dark pit of abyss.
My body constricted in a corner
Huddled up, popping everything it could.
Now the basis of this story isn't about you saving me,
But how you gave me your hand, shoulder, smile and wisdom to the path of saving.
Of how you opened your chest, tore out your ribcage and gave me your broken heart as you took mine.
Of how you taught me pain is inevitable but suffering is optional
Of how you showed me true love.
And how grateful I am.
In twenty four hours the heart beats 115200 times.
At least fifty percent of the time my heart skips a beat.
This means from 57600 beats and above are skipped.
A week consists of seven days
In hours that's approximately 168.
As like the first at least fifty percent is lost in thought of you
Which means 84hrs and above I think about you.
An average of all 12 months is approximately 140 days.
Okay skip the math, let's get straight to the conclusion.
Math is a fine art of illusion.
Filled with various abstract to distract you.
But the rule is you will always find your x.
The x that completes your equation.
So what I am saying is that you complete my equation of life
You're my X.
Literature teaches us to express our feelings in terms of literal devices.
From anecdotes, personification to lititoes.
It tells us to sing with our hearts,
Speak with our souls and allow our voices to do it all.
Like Christina Rossetti,
"My heart is like a singing bird"
"For my love has come to me"
Look truth is you give me butterflies.
You make my heart swell up in happiness.
You make me feel alive.
You make me stutter out of nervousness.
You make me want to impress you.
To always put a smile on that beautiful face.
You make me want to hear your laugh every single second.
You make me happy
Which makes me want to make you happy.
Because pain is a feeling we all get to experience
But happiness is rare and I want you to feel it.
What I am trying to say is
I'm taking it back to the 90's
To the early 2000's
To tell you, you're one in a million
That I'm stuck on you
And that I am madly in love with you.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 2:32 AM UTC
letting go of you
would be like
confining myself
to a boat
in order to taste
the freedom
of the ocean.
and every day I'm
without you
would feel like swimming
to the surface
in a panic,
gasping for air
as your name
fills my lung
and drowns me.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
Maybe it’s the simple idea of being trapped in my own mind
Of being encased in this ****** square box
Where all my voice does it echo
Echo... Echo…
Bouncing off these metallic confining barriers
And there’s not a single thing anyone can do
Unless you’re able to scale walls
While defying any logic that comes in to play
Maybe that’s possible
… Only maybe.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
There inside the chamber sits,
Awaiting patiently;
Gathering discourse and their wits,
To match with Chimpanzee.
Primate statues loom the loft,
‘Mongst whitening Baboons;
Fidget in their seats too soft,
Indifferent of this room.
For ghosts of former nobles peek,
In shame, as they observe;
The power of the abject weak,
Enable them to serve.
Parrots cackling ‘mongst themselves,
As peacocks flaunt their fan;
Gorilla preens, while tries to quell,
With gavel in his hand.
Chimp arises, intently poised,
To embellish his appointment;
Words rehearsed to fill the void,
Deliberate and pointed.
For he, and only he, shall reign,
While rendering his will
Upon the reaches, lakes and plains;
‘Pon feather, fur and gill.
Yet irony betrays this horde,
Of chosen beasts that thrive,
Who seek to witness own accord,
On who should live or die.
Baboons and the Chimpanzee,
May climb to endless heights,
Gather fruit from tops of trees,
And relish in their might;
But those who scrounge upon the ground,
Or forage in the sea,
Cannot relate to this debate,
Nor self-idolatry.
So this becomes an exercise,
In futile words exchanged;
In bartering the truth for lies,
Leaves jungle quite estranged.
Such is then, the sacrifice,
That satisfies this troop:
Lions shall compete with mice,
For homeland and for food.
This seems just, this seems right,
So pleased to then arrive,
To alter former terms of plight,
Ensure the like survive.
Commune must have order,
Compliance is then deemed;
Life must have its borders,
Confining self-esteem.
Parrots flee to bring the news,
Of brighter days ahead;
While creatures of the air and blue,
Fear the distance spread.
Content to reconvene again,
As this is their employ;
Govern those outside the pen,
Such honor they enjoy.
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 6:08 AM UTC
Maybe it was the fact that you only knew broken English
And that you cried when all your tongue could only come up with blunt Norwegian
Did you cry when all the other first graders thought you were stupid, grandfather?
Was it that which drew you inwards to the growing child
And the growing misunderstanding of communication.
The barrier between elementary school tongues and accents is a large casme in your world.
Was it the marines, the war, the things you saw
that rationed you
Into the secluded soul that you became?
The distant, angry man, husband and father
Who drove cars far away from home
And than raged when you made it home on the weekend.
Was it that which made my father different?
Made him paint the walls of his room black and break windows at seventeen?
The walls of that confining house had never heard yells that loud.
The front door had never been slammed that hard.
Friends' couches became more familiar family members.
Was it that which made him the eclectic artist, unconfident man, funny husband, and tentative father?
Who mentioned specific detailed taste without any context
Who refuses to be challenged
Socially inept, his daughter thought.
Slight asburgers, she thought.
Ungrateful! Selfish! Attitude stricken! He retaliated.
How the **** was he supposed to react?
He never mentioned how much he loved her,
How much she changes his life.
Was it that made her the way she is?
She began becoming familiar with wine bottles and ***** that wasn't chased.
She drank to forget sometimes
She drank to not worry.
She'd say **** more often
And in the rooms of her best friends,
She'd laugh at her circumstances.
Than all she'd say was,
**** THEM ALL*
And sipped until the bottom of the bottle was her best friend.
May 29, 2011
May 29, 2011 at 1:52 PM UTC
Even though disappointed thousand times
or struck in a fight,
She is now finally rising from
her life's darkest night.
So, today I stand here,
Afraid to reveal my heights
recite my ideas,
and fight for my rights.
You detained me of my will,
Agonized my mind
descended my skill.
And confining me to fork and knife,
Yes, it is true that this
Is the story of my life.
She who was pressed from all sides
remained victorious in her spirits
overcoming her fetters
giving wings to her mind.
She, the nucleus of our society
deprived of her living,
with a tormented mind
and fractured within her own kind.
If she tends to be so weak,
Then the future of our country is bleak.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC