Dripping ink on parchment,
the quill – the only thing I have left;
Family in brisk danger,
beloved betrothed to another;
A piece of paper – it all started,
tempted to rip it, tattered.
Though each breath numbered,
Blossoming freedom is all that matters.
Lines of verticals, all I see,
Each wall domineering o’er me.
A loaf of bread, I had to take,
In return, soul and body encaged.
Politics, greed in every turn,
sins, injustice and stronghold –
let’s watch it burn.
Thoughts voiced and acted
no longer numbered.
How does one use this privilege,
this fought and died for – power?
Inspired by what’s happening in the Philippines now, where our freedom seems to be at stake with the new anti-terror law that has been signed just today. Channeling my anxiety, disappointment, and fear through art.
engr. v writes 