Silent loudness by Abdulrahman Mas'ud


My pen cries on the pangs of hunger
My ink goes down on a white fever
As my heart throbs and  throbs 
My throat was a row of screaming prayers 

The aching feet of an old man
Torn apart by his walk on amber
Yearning for all he craves
Avoiding the untimely visit to the grave

Billions of hearts torn to pieces 
By the shepherds living in blisses
Turning a deaf ear to the cry of the masses
Leaving them to feed on poisonous grasses

Like a cruel master and his loyal servants 
Depriving them of their rights as other merchants 
Setting aback the request of their pathetic whisper 
Making them work with severe hunger

Pregnant protesters that are always in labour
Yet, a stillbirth is all they harbor 
Not that their murmurs were never heard
But the grown are being wicked.

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