How long have you been here?
You can not say.
When you are in the dark,
with chains at your feet,
and cuffs on your hands,
It’s hard to tell.
Days, months and years roll by,
And you are still here.
You see nobody,
nobody sees you,
Except your jailer of course,
He is your worst nightmare,
but yet your Savior,
He puts you to the whip,
and then he feeds you fried rice,
Sometimes you get chicken,
or even a drink,
He knows you like fanta,
So he gives you one sip at a time,
and you are grateful for this love.
You sing,
but who can hear you from this dungeon,
You cry,
but even your tears have given up on you,
as they flow no more.
You don’t bother to shout,
For who will believe your report?
You have thought of many ways to escape,
to break these chains and run,
to carve a tunnel through these walls,
and hope to see a beam of light at the end,
but these chains are more than they seem.
These chains,
Are all your years of toiling,
They are “Love”,
They are Sex,
They are marriage,
They are children,
They are money,
They are family,
They are friends,
They are security,
They are fear,
They are shame,
They are guilt,
They are regret,
They are unforgiveness,
They are You.
So you stand behind these bars,
And hold on,
To the pain,
and wonder how long,
How long you will last,
Until it kills you,
And then,
Maybe,
When you lie dead in your casket,
Someone will see the marks on your hands and feet,
And wonder if they ever knew you at all,
And they will be right,
because,
They never did.
Copyright © Biyai Garricks
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