i know a guy
his name is Hamza
i saw him..
he gifted a person the brightly smiling sun and the beautiful moon
and those pretty shining stars he used to count every night
i saw him..
he gifted a person his soul,his life,his heart,his breaths and his world
and i also saw..
what he received in return
he received a gift too
those cuts i see every day..on his wrist
the same cuts..getting darker and deeper day by day
and the blood stains on his clothes
and the never ending blackness
and the infinte darkness
which is so dark..
he cant figure out any thing
he cant even find his own self
but he received a gift of the feeling
the only feeling he has got
of the wet blood
he feels it coming out and coming and flowing and flowing on and going on..
and never stops and never ends
he received this thought as a gift
the thought..when is the blood going to end?
when is it going to stop?and the breaths
and the heart
and when is the wounded soul going to fade away completely?
i see the mirror and i think
i think, i know the guy, his name is Hamza
and what a wonderful gift of black he has recieved in a return of his world
but i dont pity him for the pain he tolerates
i just pray his death..