I Am No Distant Solitude

Mottakeenur Rehman

I steal the greedy gaze of envious men,
to shape a shelter—bright, unbroken—
to carve into this earth a dream unblinking,
and through the wreckage, build a land of fire and dawn.

I slit the swollen guts of liars and thieves,
the fat kings choking on their gold,
to dress the wounds of the world in calm,
to seed the soil with truth where their rot once grew.

Now I stand—a blade, a vow, a storm,
my poem a nation’s spine, its cry, its rising.
I am no distant solitude.
I am the hand that burns.

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Comments +

Comments3

  • Poetic Licence

    An interesting and thought provoking write, nicely written

  • sorenbarrett

    This poem to my mind highly symbolic and historic of a nation once set on the principles of freedom where the hand that burns represents to me the torch in the hand of lady liberty. A powerful and most moving poem that speaks of past principles and a nation. Yet this could be taken further at another level and interpreted to mean the hand of liberty is actually burning and in its destruction for all it once stood for is destructing and falling to ash. A wonderful poem and a fave

    • Mottakeenur Rehman

      I pleased to see your praisworthy and rational remark .

    • nephilim56

      great write



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