Run out of the words,
Unable to scratch-
When you run out of your itch..
The cells that are in a
Hurry to heal- engulf the vent
To ascertain a blockage-
Healing can be smothering.
The ideas that try to bounce
Are hit on the head into a
Submission of inexplicability.
The red embers of thoughts-
That hitch with raw rush
Of emotions are doused
With cold fetters-
Mental stability is slavery.
And you wait and wait like
A prisoner of a non-violent
World - A hostage in this
Wordless cage.
Smothered by the gags of
Un-bled blood-
Anti-healing slogans in
Your veins convince you-
That the pens are mightier
Than swords.
But the government that
Hates pain and preaches
Positive thinking has
Machine guns on steroids.
Fearing which- despite
Growing wings,
The words refuse to fly.
And the poem intended
To be written is a martyr
Even before it put up a fight.
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