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2009, നവംബർ 15, ഞായറാഴ്‌ച

On the Death of a Slave's Pen

Every now and then I get a glimpse of
What can it be meant,
A free zone to my pen.
At the moment next,
To the eternal darkness
I close to my self.

It was then in the darkest corner,
I hatched upon the edge of spears;
I saw
My pen bleeds.
Over the white, red spread
I felt my words smelling blood.

An unreleased word!
An interrupted revolution!
Here lies,
The frozen blood
Of
My pen.

Epitaph:

We are tired, yet
We are not bound.

3 അഭിപ്രായങ്ങൾ:

Gopalunnikrishna പറഞ്ഞു...

That is because the very next moment you close yourself. then what you see is only a wishful dream and naturally the revolution lies frozen!

in that context the epitaph simply negates.

Yet promising.

ജിക്കൂസ് ! പറഞ്ഞു...

:-)

Melethil പറഞ്ഞു...

നന്നായി അരുണ്‍, കുറച്ചു പേരെ ഉള്ളു ഇംഗ്ലീഷില്‍ എഴുതുന്നെ, ജുനൈതിനെയേ കണ്ടിട്ടുള്ളൂ, ബൂലോകത്തില്‍, സന്തോഷം