The Tale Of A Wrecked Boy

I was asked once to sketch 

The portrait of ghosts and memories.

Now, I learn that any child with out 

The theory of pain in his veins is a corpse.

Perhaps, a fence has been erected on my eye, 

The room is now a valley, 

Where a woman's eye is the source of a sea;

Where the flowers are the butterflies 

To shield from rains and bullets.

Here, in fatherland, a mother's breast is a venom

& to kill an ant is another way to survive.

In this little poem, a boy narrates 

The tale of his hometown.

To love a man is to slaughter his daughter.

To move is to knock the door of death.

Today there's no ink for our poetry,

& no names for metaphors and similes.

Here, mourning is a synonym to silence 

and silence is a crime.

Caged

I'm now a wingless bird, leaning on the edge

Of the terror – weak and exhausted.

As i inhale the slavery scent,

My nose barricaded, breathe, breathe, breathe…

I, like a rainbow on the rainy sky

Bearing the colors of grief, sad and regression.

I call upon the name of freedom

In a daydream slumber and in nightmares.

The caged bird's words are as like an empty drum

And like air crossing the empty sky.

My voice became inaudible

As my mouth is buried in the sands of an abandoned land.

My hands, chained with metals

And my legs can't move to cross the fortresses, why?