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Diaries Of Someone

Dedicated to the martyrs of Bu Sleem Prison.

Another murky night,
descended with ears
of sponge;
leaning over his breath.

Ironically,
thoughts flickered;
attempting to mute lullabies,
sung by thirsty bazooka.
Worthless
to rock senses gone numb,
skin unable to change…

In return,
how naive,
trusting moon of elusive intellect,
patriotism dressed in tuxedo.
Seeking for shelter,
from whence idealism not slain,
mere morn
heals without bows,
without patches,
silky like other’s
Sinfully,
the margins groaned.
weary they were,
to endure more confessions,
in chapter bruised by dreams.
Line after line,
Still hanging,
and soon,
a signature he would lay,
slapping a fate of ambiguity,
for freedom;
stretched away into infinity,
but tidings would be given…
Even if those verses,
crippled in the cradle.
Salma Maref
Benghazi, Libya

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