(𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑒𝑚 𝑏𝑦 𝐴𝑑𝑎𝑚𝑢 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑗𝑢𝑚𝑎)
As an innocent child of love and light,
my bones were once broken forcefully.
Mine is a dream of living a better life
& trying all my best to be a man
whose words can heal the wounds
caused by the perilous weapon of war.
All that matters now is to survive. O!
...will my age-long dream ever see the
beautiful eyes of the futuristic years?
Bombing my small township early in
the morning, two intruders – enemies
of peace and harmonious coexistence,
with bloody arms and furious eyes –
kept their mouths all agog for months.
I was wanting to utter a word of God...
but I, with firearms, was threatened
like a goat, like a rebel, like a criminal...
I have never committed any crime!
I wasn't meant to survive, they said
when unleashing their terror in the day
& pouring hot water on my sore soul in
the night. Our people cried so painfully
until their blood got dried like firewood
kept for further use by a renown cook.
Trembling in fear – no clothes to wear
except nylons to cover our obsolete
bodies – we dwelt in the utmost agony
of hunger and the solitary trees that
threw their leaves atop the graveyards
of our dear brethren whose departure
from this world had brought sorrow to
the minds of their beloved families. I
know what it means to survive: trying
not to give up on your many dreams of
yesteryears and learning the art of
letting go the things that do not add
value to you, your career, and your life.
To survive, we gather our tears in a big
vessel and drink our sweats and bath
with the remnants of our forefathers’
salty soap and shampoo. Life is short
that's why it is so easy to live than to
survive all life's hurdles & tussles. Let
he who lives defeat life's ins and outs
in the world of nothingness.