I let my soul be caged, bleeding with verses of blunt poems. The eternal one brought me to my fallen state, my solitary freedom, where there is only darkness and no recline. He was the one who sent and made me street poet, with holes in my jacket, stones in my shoes and stains of remorse in my spirit. The irony of life, my illusions, false hopes, after thoughts, daydreams, agonies, memories made me a prison of words. And this unspoken prose is my destiny. Though I’ve been rejected repeatedly, sonnets make me the wholeness of my life and makes me hush all these words…… letting my spirit rise again…… to another life yet unlived.