Again you made friends,
words wanted to leave the paper blank
for the parched lips,
crying eyes, trembling hands.
Missing stanzas, flowing river, rootless floats.
You did not feel like time filled you every minute,
you were empty, poor.
When you read the end, you understood beginning.
Will to die was not sufficient
you had not completed the script.
Alone in crowd
you wanted words to commit suicide.
Democracy was a funny name.
Everybody was sad,
except the lead who did not know where to go.
One day you found your voice and were surprised
you were everybody when you were hurt,
you bled inside and your blood
then mixed with the blood of everybody.
Then everybody cried
and you became separated from you and did not say anything!
