O Poet!
I write the first line, and strike it off!
Fearing the King and his soldiers.
I write the second line and strike it off!
Fearing guerrilla revolutionaries.
Fearing for dear life, thus have I struck off thousands of my own lines!
The souls of these perished lines hover around me and ask me,
O Poet!
Are you a poet or a murderer?
Often have I heard, that lawmakers throttle justice,
That religion is butchered by protectors of the faith,
That religion is butchered by protectors of the faith,
In our times,in fear, poets murder their poetry.
This I hadn’t heard,And now I have.
*Source- Unknown
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