Poezja

A war was on, 
(psychological) 
to transgress the unwritten line. 
Me, stranded on the 
sands of time. 
 
Day after day 
shaven heads in protest 
erupt in fury. 
Firebrands join like 
ducks to water. 
 
In camera, you 
open the folds of mystery. 
As we start reading script, 
the wounds were mine, 
and you were the sounds. 
 
On the table, I put my 
eyes, ears and my 
father's shoes. I come 
out in open, to take 
a shower of abuses.