Poetry

Again you made friends, words 
wanted to leave the paper blank 
for the parched lips, 
crying eyes, 
trembling hands. 
 
Missing stanzas, 
flowing river, 
rootless floats. 
You did not feel like- 
time filled you every minute, 
you were empty, poor. 
 
When you read the end 
you understood beginning. 
Will to die was not sufficient 
you had not completed the script. 
Alone in crowd you wanted words 
to commit suicide. 
 
Democracy was a funny name. 
Everybody was sad, except the lead 
who did not know where to go. 
 
One day you found your voice 
and were surprised 
you were everybody 
when you were hurt, you bled inside 
and your blood then mixed with 
the blood of everybody. Then everybody cried 
and you became separated from you and did not say anything!