Tower Of Clocks Poem by Hanan Muzafar
Tower Of Clocks
Needles and dials break,
when the song of slaves raise:
How fast you run,
you will be conquered by lost one.
With every clock,
found ahidden piece,
out of nothing
everything run.
Begging on my knees,
call it suffering;
it's revenge.
Ripped apart,
waiting for the day.
The fire melt gears of pride,
iron hands break castles of lies;
from filth new throne rise.
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5/5/2024 5:37:09 AM # 1.0.0.1119
