I PLEGDE TO MY MISSING SOUL
Have I suffered from the hands of the miscreants?
You bunch of thieves, taker of faith and killer of dreams
My words are lost but to you my pen shivers in pain
My ink are blood and my papers are thirsty
My scream will come loud and so my wail in no words
You gave me my freedom with death lurked in it
My body is peeling and my soul dying; living dead am I?
I am quavering and so my...