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.


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