The Pulse

There Remains in the past,
Story of your dream
All those words and sacrifices
There you are, in me, like a pulse
Scream I will in my madness
Scream in will in my sanity

Know I no other way
It is in my pulse, and yours
Tied we are to this, this strange affair
See I you all day in your existence
Shaped and differentiated
Through prejudices and hatred
Words you utter in carelessness
Words you utter in despair
Forgotten we have the paths
Only the dust settles in its trail

Remember you will be freed
From these clutches built
From hatred and possession
Just reach out to those who need
Our help and support, in moments
Known and in presence,
Not enough these words of change,
Carefully constructed through
The hands of time, as we gaze

There you are, in me, like a pulse
Ticking, clicking, beating in your pain
In all those times, I thought I was free
Still the old slave tied down to that dream
Of my ancestors, of you, of me all in one
The old burden still there, like this pulse
In existence for times unknown, alive!



4 thoughts on “The Pulse

  1. Beautifuil! the sincerity oozes out of the poem is what we all ought to find in our hearts, as we’ve got this undeniable bondage with the downtrodden of our society. You are preading the message in a very enchanting manner.

    Go well!

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