the poet cries out for the thinkers behind the right, even to have a say
My foot is
abuts a brick
And the pain of my
Opens Eyes
The mirror is broken
big, small, thousands
splinters on the empty space
Where was he
breaks to each safety light
And barely reached my eye
Where my world
was only a few fragments
A light beam
reflected by here to there
Its origin
hardly identify
His hand
stroked the mirror fragments
A cut, a next
A drop of blood, a second
A thin red line
Draws its network
between the glass
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