Together, we were exiled,
Words take root day by day,
A melancholy that trickles from the tip of my pen,
Sometimes my words breathe their last.
The flame of hope shines anew,
Events you thought wouldn’t come, come to pass,
Life’s secrets offer you beauty,
Even with a broken pen, I can write poetry,
In my heart, hopeful words are hidden.
Words chase after each other,
Opportunities wait to catch the visible one,
I understood that every difficulty is a chance to learn,
When I hold my pen, hope saplings grow,
This world, filled with the beauty of life,
Blooms in our hearts with enthusiasm.
Exile
