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Shackles



January 22. 2003
The Iranian

The distant sound of an engine and laughter
Break the silence of the dawn
As I stand on the balcony taking in the frosty breeze
I grip my cup of tea, trying to absorb its warmth
Searching for something other than concrete paved streets
Or the lonliness that engulfs my soul

All these man-made treasures
We learn to covet so well
Fail to fulfill this Being
Continually longing for something more
This insatiable hunger lingers in the depths

I try to flee from the voices that haunt me
Through neat guises of educational endeavors
Wanting only to escape myself
Hoping that the crossing of oceans will drown the ghosts

Some prisons are not made of brick or stone
You can be a captive of your own mind
Unable to break through the shackles of the past



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