Inking Voice !

The clock is ticking to turn another hour;

My eyes don't blink, my mind won't think —

No! not yet, for my words haven’t roared.

They wedge apart the gap that hid pretentious peace;

My voice trembles, my thoughts stumble, and “I” still juggle with a piece.

                                            Image generated with the help of GPT

I want my words to drain out with the ink inside me,

That keeps me afloat — buoyant, yet meek.

I have no fear to die, yet I dare to fear,

For my words aren’t meant to be crushed, to sound bleak.

The hounding howls of those shining yet whining eyes —

The shackles will break, for my words corrode my nights.

I will leave; may I die for the liberation of these words,

Yet these words may die with me — throat-cut by the oppressor’s sword.

My nights are as bright as days;

My heart cold, my mind restless — yet my ink still slays.

Let your words sail through this tide,

For the bank of liberation has raised its slogan — clear, loud, and wide.