Every morning, through the street of the city,
A long queue of captives striving for that which promises ransom.
Though they hate it here and wish the night never falls.
Many are those who walk with dreams on their wrist,
Some walk with fear around their feet.
Some struggle in the cells of their wishes and desire.
Hoping one day they live to glimpse their manacles burn into to ashes
But this hope shimmers till epitaphs are inscribe
In truth, there is no such thing as freedom
They who are singing the songs of freedom have forcefully found delight in the cruelty of their cellies.
They do that which captivates them joyfully .
©ahmed_poem
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