Prisoner Of War

By Madiha

Chrysanthemums and prisoners of war, Do you ever come home?

Hold on to the yellow suffragette,

Seek the battalion chase,

The prison walls and iron shells,

The virtue of the maidens, all of it.

Lodged between the yellow suns and Gray soot, you search the escape.

Trapeze. Heigh ho!

A walk to the infinite. Fall,

Stand, walk again, come back.

Sit with the body dissected.

As what's yours, shout, the throat

Dying of brazen thirsts, scream.

Find the leverage, act the escape.

Hear, the chrysanthemums call. The other side. Did you reach? No.

Did you make a home of the prison? Of the gory soot, of the black blood? Filth is yours, grime is yours.

But the yellow suns, the chrysanthemums' calls? They will forever hold, the shards of your soul, Marking like a sorcerer's dust,

Won't you cross the perimeter?

Is this your home, dark inside, yellow outside? Hear, the chrysanthemums call. The other side.

By Madiha