So you think you are free

Lost sense of good
Frocefully taken
From prideless hands
Freedom deprived
Painfully twisted
Drained crisply dry
Of happy claps
They wipe the spill
Buoyancy leakage
Remains of it -
Museum filler
Drenched in the sweat
Convened by truth
It’s black and white
No in between
They touch the real
Try to handle it
Sometimes they do
Sometimes they weep


Wake up, world. Wake up to realize that your freedom dream is nothing but a delusion. I scan morning papers for the obituary of compassion. Survived by whom?