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Empty Souls

Fiona Catherine Jerry

Photo: Viktor Talashuk

This pen will bleed no more

Poetic Justice as you may call it

A self-proclaimed sentence I prefer

Words birthed from pain

I reap harvests that turn black

Minds parched, souls wandering

Empty stomachs screaming loudly

Price tags forged deep down their throats

I hear countless screams, don't you?

Snatching morsels from ones mouth

I have seen water turn red

Not wine this time, but blood.

Even my wounds are censored

Where do I go? What do I eat? How will I provide?

Mere questions with no answers

Dispatched like cattle’s from one land to the other

No pen will bleed again

When all I harvest is ash.



Fiona Catherine Jerry

is a student of English literature

and lives in Duliajan

[ Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in our Blog are those of the author(s) / poet(s) and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Publisher. ]


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