I am the blood and flesh
of unnamed love.
I was conceived on the numbered room
of the thirsty city.
I cared by the hands of no foundation dreams.
My food is an anemic fluid
mixed with sweat.
I wished before that I’d come out
in this dark, sticky room.
But morning not yet come
I’ve already seen the light.
I was imprisoned then
in this mirror and studied.
Here, seeds of life
have no space of growing.
I have but one wish now:
Voice in the bottle
not to become louder!
Blood and flesh of stolen love, that’s me!
Impablaak ti Poetry.com
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