Been born free, doesn't guarantee freedom
The firewood, was once a fruit tree,
Hacked down, by the forces of life
Everyone encourages you,
They say there's light at the end of the tunnel
But no one, tells you how long the tunnel is,
If you would truly see the light.
Down through series of heroic deeds
Struggling through nuit de sine
You ask, whose bones are scattered around
In the tunnel,
Are they of wild beast or of men, who thirst to death
Inside this tunnel I am headed too,
They say, its bones of men and women who never
Forget or ever forgive.
The tunnel, which many a hero could not
See its end,
They bow out of life with the hope that-
"There's light at the end" sadly nay
Today am free, and strong, tomorrow I am weak
And in chains,
They ascribe my travails to-
Passing through test of time
And if I never make it out alive,
The tunnel was perhaps supposed to be my home.
And the skulls and bones where my friends.
You can never be at peace with yourself
Until you are at peace with everyone.
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 10/02/2019
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