I arise before the sun can slice,
The darkness of my sleep.
Soon as it slays
the blanket of my dreams,
I whisper to Thee, wherever He may be,
Thank you for whatever you have been
On my unconquerable soul !
Trapped I am, under the circumstance,
Care not to cry or as much wince,
Bloody in my heard but unbowed,
Remains my head abode,
For beyond wrath and tears,
are my Forty years!
You are the master of your fate
And captain of your soul, replied Thee.
No comments:
Post a Comment