With stapled lips, he thought of the day;
Inhaled as if a brick was blocking his airway
With a heavy heart—brimmed in anxiety,
The man, yet fright, stood in weary.
He's called out for an unending critic,
Walking past the hall of justice with ocean of eyes—clamantly staring at him.
He's creeped out, feeling less of a righteous civic
The man, in worry, seemed to broke down affirm.
His defied soul returned to every judging mutter;
As if he remembered every detail of how people named him, "the great jitter"
A known suspect of the silent past—close to death, he was threatened
10 years had gone, today was his final trial.
On the long run, afraid of saying a fragment
For he knew his voice would end this hellish session;
The man, in epiphany, had faced the judge
For now, they knew, he was the real victim of this unjust system.
"This country nor the government may not believe me, for I have demolished the untold in a decade,
For I hated speaking the truth in public, for as I know, my brevity won't ever be heard.
I may die for tomorrow, but I know that my voice today will lastly matter as a victim of this prejudice.
