When I sit down to write a love poem
I compose some aesthetic art
I want to show the miracle of words
The ink soaks up
The pen, While marching
Suddenly Twists and strikes
It says, O human!
You don't know how to be a poet
I entrusted myself to your fingers
You will become the voice of the voiceless
You will retaliate
For the suffering of the innocent
By cooking words in the fire of your compassion
You will break the throbbing silence
With the tip of your pen
You will uproot corruption
On the land of promises
You will cut off the weeds of assurances
You will paint pictures
Of hunger and poverty
To protect the voiceless
Your word pictures will become a challenge
For the vanishing culture, for the crumbling heritage
You will raise the voice of the living body
But alas!
You remain imprisoned in the dark cave of your ambitions
Thank you so much for reading. Have a great day 馃槉馃檹 
