The Ring of Repentance.
It isn’t a testament that I forget.
Nor is it a past life unlived.
Nor is it a disappointment from those I love.
What is this phenomenon of non-existence?
A single voice passed inside the doors of secrecy,
Or maybe the dream of freedom,
Is what sets the cage ablaze.
Isn’t it monotonous?
To hear the call of humanity,
From the pits of hell,
And among the Winds of Paradise,
From the halls of the undergrowth,
To hear the Ring of Repentance.
And be but tied with the blood of Absolution,
And hear the colors fade,
Into a vice of jealousy and hate,
And to feel the barren earth after the Pilgrimage,
Lost under the covers of the slumber-succumbed sky.
To hear the voices,
Even after the deaf gave me their blessings,
And to see the disappointment,
Even after the blind steal the vision.
Not much has changed,
Except the medium and the vessel,
In perfect harmony,
Playing along the ravines of existence,
To lend voice to the one that hears.
– Imaan Siddiq