And sometimes when you Run out of the words, Unable to scratch- When you run out of your itch.. The cells that are in a Hurry to heal- engulf the vent To ascertain a blockage- Healing can be smothering. The ideas that try to bounce Are hit on the head into a Submission of inexplicability. The red embers of thoughts- That hitch with raw rush Of emotions are doused With cold fetters- Mental stability is slavery. And you wait and wait like A prisoner of a non-violent World - A hostage in this Wordless cage. Smothered by the gags of Un-bled blood- Anti-healing slogans in Your veins convince you- That the pens are mightier Than swords. But the government that Hates pain and preaches Positive thinking has Machine guns on steroids. Fearing which- despite Growing wings, The words refuse to fly. And the poem intended To be written is a martyr Even before it put up a fight.