Trafficked... Poem by Aleksandra Szymanska

Trafficked...



I live in a house made of few cards,
no weather will ever surprise me...
If wind blows again, it'll rob me of heart;
rain will wash my brain... Who'll recognize me?

I live in a house made of few whispers -
they dance with moon beams above my roof...
Illuminating illusion is rather scarce,
but woodpecking lullabies can be a proof...

I live and I am a traded commodity;
I've got no right to be who I was born.
I am a lab rat - here's my identity;
my name has been stolen, defamed, then torn...

And I avowedly utter for those
who have no rights, no name like me:
something has changed, the end is close;
no matter what end, soon we will be free...

Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: political
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