He never thought he’d be killed

By words

That freely come to your mind

 

Took for granted

That his thoughts could run free,

Across the city

Climb up mountains

And settle on the land

 

Then one night…

He was dragged out of his bed

And shot in the head

 

Because the stench of death

Has run riot in the streets

The Taliban snuffing out

Anyone who thinks

 

The pen was with him

The notebook ready to explode

With his words

 

But like many to come

The soul will be snuffed out

And words will flood out

Like blood across the land

 

A stain…

 

The silence from your pen

Is also the same