by Insha
See, see the branches of my body
Hands, ankels, my black curls are bound
In the shackles of clouds.
Misty cloud rings would
Not be able to crush me down.
Dont forget yours duty of
few hours, then you vanished.
Your iron aired shackles
Cant even bruise my light breaths.
Your dim dark shadow
Cant shed fragrant leaves of my soul.
You may invite season of autumn here,
But ours is the unity which will bloom through all seasons.
Our future generation, would see,
Ponder over the footprints of museum shroud.
Through soul to soul, heart to heart
They would be able to reach their roots.
Our beings, soaked with helplesness
still we would smear the truth
Our voices will continue to touch the sky above you.
