The child born in the cradle
Exposed to the melody
Of the mother’s lullabies,
The privilege of childhood is mine.
The youth that blooms,
From the bud of innocence,
And the droplets of blood
Flowing in his nerves are mine.
I am nobody of anybody
In this world of selfish relations,
The sting of grief,
That makes my heart bleed is mine
The unhealing wounds of worry are mine.
The scattered and shattered entity
In storm of relations is mine, but
I am nobody of anybody.