We are all hidden inside Man’s inculcated exhaust;

They teach us a planned life, to which we comply.

Our children’s world (with age) turns to a desert, dry.

Is it possible to muss what we all once had embossed

In our brains’ thoughts? Our creativity forced to doff.

Man thought they could kidnap my opinions, be sly

And stand alongside, waiting for my treasure to die.

It’s as if Man has prompted a primordial holocaust:

Marching about minds to play a brainwashing song.

Pieces have been seized to ensure I do not go amok.

The sole me that I am turning into is utterly wrong.

Lost to me, is the wonder of the imagination-struck.

The piece that was once thought to be lost is clear,

My existence in the painting of Man is a mere smear.


This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world


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