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Stumbling upon the same mistakes
was I born to be a curse?
Crying every night holding the pillow tight
Is the pillow the only friend I have?
Why can't I speak up?
Why can't I tell them what I want?
The things you are decorating me with
Are the burdens which are burying me down
The things that you're snatching away
Are the structures of my soul
Making me wear a mask and forcing me to behave like that
But deep inside there's the soul
Forming a volcano of Truth
You may think your force is making me numb
You may think your force has taken me over
But the creativity would make the mask fall over.
I won't be your puppet anymore
I will be myself and there'd be nothing I'd cry for.
Poetry
Bangladesh