LONG CONQUEROR | Poems

LONG CONQUEROR

on the palms of my hands,
a little bird with broken wing,
its tiny eyes looking at me,
crying voiceless to its conqueror.

I am a little maiden,
made by old oak wood,
brownish skin,
with big eyes to see nature,
I ask my carpenter,
why he made me,
simply he said of
his possession
of my obscured look.

I take a sneaky leave,
with my little bird,
we are odd couple,
but love to be free,
we don’t belong to
our long conqueror,
but are free to leap forward with our broken
wings,
with our obscured look,
to the nature where we belong to.

©® Emmelia M
Indonesia

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