Old and frail,
His feet dangling with chain,
Groaning and moaning,
To free himself but in vain
Curls his fingers, eats his lips,
Clears his eyes, off the tears of pain that kills,
Brushes his brow from precipitation,
Works on the knots, that cut his wrists in frustration
'Help!' he cries towards the pin-point light,
Coming from the crack of the wooden house wide,
'Please help me!' he calls out to the air uncared,
Shattered he feels helpless and scared
Where have they brought him?
Those men with armed weapons,
Locked him inside for the crime,
Of stealing bread for his children
He shuts his eyes,
Anger melting to fear inside,
If they die those little children,
He would burn himself alive and kindle
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