At midnight I go to bed but cannot sleep, <br />hear in air the suppressed and the oppressed cry. <br /> <br />Some are crying under bombing, some for hunger; <br />What can I do for them? <br /> <br />My pen replies, 'Take me and compose such a poem, <br />by which the oppressors may be taught a lesson.' <br /> <br />My sword says, 'Seize me and start the war. For survival, <br />there's no substitute for dying and killing some culprits.' <br /> <br />I take the pen in one hand, the sword in another. <br />My blood starts dancing. By that dance, <br />eating and sleeping of mine have been stopped utterly.<br /><br />Sayeed Abubakar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-midnight-12/
