Trafficked...

Poem By Aleksandra Szymanska

I live in a house made of few cards,
no weather will ever surprise me...
If wind blows again, it'll rob me of heart;
rain will wash my brain... Who'll recognize me?

I live in a house made of few whispers -
they dance with moon beams above my roof...
Illuminating illusion is rather scarce,
but woodpecking lullabies can be a proof...

I live and I am a traded commodity;
I've got no right to be who I was born.
I am a lab rat - here's my identity;
my name has been stolen, defamed, then torn...

And I avowedly utter for those
who have no rights, no name like me:
something has changed, the end is close;
no matter what end, soon we will be free...

Comments about Trafficked...

You raise your voice not for the freedom of the rat alone but for all the beings trafficked all over the world. Cheers
A really great poem, really like this. A fantastic poem. May i invite you to read my new poem called, Children Of The Night.


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of SZYMANSKA

We're Not Alone...

I've dispersed one tear, let it pour down like rain.
I have strength - I can't see, but I'll rise again.
I will rise like the sun when the earth opens its eyes,
I will rise, all will change - you will realize...

Tribute To Roy Batty...

Give me a handful of soundless seconds
and I'll kneel and kiss your feet...
My time won't cease to run, I reckon,
I can hear its clock, beat by beat...

Leafless Future...

What do I see when I look at trees?
Can I still read the shape of their arms?
Do I remember when I played by their feet?
The air they breathe tastes like sweetest calms...

Prayer For Dying Leaves...

Leaves, what can you do when cold winds tear you down,
so you tumble in the air, thinking of a velvet lawn?
Some of you just only dream of long-blade, bushy grass,
which would let you sway in peace as your time would slowly pass...

Poem 3

Let's tear the God made silhouette into pieces,
just to please our eyes with the wondrous view...
But the radiance is incomplete: what is missing?
There's an invisible hole - the painful truth...

Cinderella Story...

When I was a child I told my mom I wanted to be Cinderella.
‘That's hard, my dear', she replied - ‘you won't find any fella'.
Time has passed, I've lost my footgear so many girls wanted to claim;
I've searched for it everywhere, being always the one to blame…