Heads roll under the metallic strike
Hung by the tyrant's spike.
Pen, ink and well stained in carmine,
When this was ours and my verse was mine.
The muses are the slave of a few.
Chained in a corner with a blind view.
Justice is hidden behind a thick wall
And letters commit suicide them all.
What does a rebel deserves
When your mouth is shut and stuck in reserves.
Imagination is free and pays no court
To some false queen of distort.
Letters of freedom are meant to be banned
In a world where the heroes are sent to remand.
A nobody differs but that's not my right.
And hopeless these verses are the last I write.
YOU ARE READING
Carmina A Book of Poems
PoetryCarmina (Hebrew) means garden or orchard. In Latin it means song or poem. This is a collection of Poems of love, life and nature.
