The syllable that never slipped from your tongue,
The thoughts that in your mind you shunned,
The words in your head that rung,
My ink has spilt them, leaving the world stunned.
The agendas that you refrain to propagate
The ideas that you do not express but hesitate
The voice that you fail to resonate
My ink has spilt them, now it’s your turn mate.
The killing pain that you hide within,
The suffering that you silently breathe in,
The daunting fear and anxiety you lock in
My ink has spilt them, now my heart has no pricking pin.
If ever you want to raise your voice but feel thwarted
If ever you want to speak your heart but feel resisted
If ever you want to explain but feel prevented
Spill your ink, and be that what you celebrated.
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