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The Traveller and The Wretch

He cries He cries
Amidst a sandstorm in the sahara night
When finally, he sighs
Contemplating his life
 
What if a traveller passing by looks at you indifferently in the eyes
With your limbs tatted dry
Holding them way up high
Above your head
Outstretched towards the sky
Signalling the peak of your demise
 
As you plead to quench your thirst
The traveller spits and confirms that “verily! You are among the cursed ”
Nay was he down to earth
 
Indeed this poor wretch refuses to yield until he has brought an end to this derogation
Face no longer filled with humiliation
His soul bare though yet to despair
He names it, and by god that name shall flare!
 
Perseverance
Whereby the traveller would not dare
Walk a mile in his shoes
without breathing in an ounce of air
But fair...
 
Fair

Préféré par...
Autres oeuvres par Lady Sakura Of Spring Gardens...



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