A Wandering Soul In Exile
My youth was too brief
and whenever I felt distraught,
I clutched my belief:
to give faith a defined worth;
free, but not truly liberated
as a wandering soul in exile:
reminding itself of how it inwardly bled
amid thoughts that knew no minimal dire!
Freedom has the dearest prize:
I either acclaim it with excitement,
or I lose it to that folly which destroys life;
nothing about incomprehension is an efficacious attempt
which enriches a rebellious mind full of rage and enmity,
but can I comprehend its enormity?
A disconsolate person is a wandering soul in exile,
lacking insight and enthusiasm: a self-evident liar
who's never warned of terrible consequences,
dispelling honor and truth, feeding on worthless pride:
to disassemble what was built with enormous sacrifices;
always distrustful, arrogant and unappreciative of uprightness,
pleasing in discord and disunity to satisfy an arrogant ego
without self-esteem to continually spread sorrow!
How can anyone fasten with chains a rightful spirit,
to enslave it and enforce a punitive silence?
The morning star is most beautiful before sunrise,
mortals are most admired when they inspire, captivate
and show endearment in their true and endless emotions:
to evoke their past liberties that time has left intact!
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