Black and white prints

Smears the heart with gore

We seek for glory in the pages

Gory tales we find.

We seek for hope

Death and war knocking at our doors in the stead.

Trivializing the commoner’s life

Their health or wealth a parochial gospel

It is not called hard life anymore

It is just a norm in the streets

Where a smile is as an expensive ointment

Hugs are like incense, only employed to perform rites

Time is a luxury everyone can afford

But are scared to waste on love

Because poverty is a disease that makes us hospitalized on beds of delusion.

Delusions not of grandeur

Delusions not of ecstasy

Delusions not of nobility.

There is a hope

A glimmer that usurps the darkness

Like moths, we move towards illumination

We smile at the harbinger of hope

We embrace the calm upsurging feel of change

Blood we refuse to shed

A tear whatsoever we refuse to let go

There is a hope

A new flame that fires our bones

Like the Sheep, we confront our Lion

We fight for what is ours

We refuse to be carried away by the Euphoria of lasciviousness

Kumbaya! with our fists held high

It is our time.

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