We are not free. This
Distorted shattered mirror
Does not reflect truth.
Its shards shred my skin,
My flesh torn by my brothers
In freedom, enslaved.
My body sickens,
Riddled with rank corruption –
For this, my words fought?
Raped by rhetoric
Eternal mountains haunt me
Still, and still, I write.
To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
To find out more about this 26 writer, please click here