He wept with his eyes open,
wooden hands tied behind his fragile paper back,
His creased lines, a slow-burning hard coal
hesitant stained soot black-
His rigid fingers conducted blazed pyres-
awkward dictated ballet fires,
Timbered weeping plant sap recluse,
Grass swayed east, trees obeyed abstruse.
Rigid etched palms held to his walled chest-,
A work of a carpenter's dream, repressed and suppressed.
He waited for nights to dawn his barked, heavy head,
Imagining endless paths to freedom led.
Where springs gushed forth, and waterfalls sang,
Where he could have the chance to be a happy man.
~X.Helmi
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