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Years, times and moments Flash before his eyes Things not understood Like the writings on his palm Nature loans her shroud of dark covering As his life, now it seems, it’s concluding On his lips are tales of time past Secrets, shared memories of a life he owned Filled with stories untold Some he wishes to air, others to the grave he takes A tale of penury, blood, war, hatred and strife Of joy, gain, laughter and love The better of two extreame he had I was and I am a slave Not brought by my colour, skin or type But a slave and a prisoner of my own mind Hanging on the edge of my existense Far but close the moment of clearity Liberation, freedom a state of mind Wondering, why? Still a crying free man.

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This article was first published on 3rd August 2012

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