He had his words tied in a ribbon;
they came to his life
and cut the wrapping.

Words were left
on the sidewalk of destiny;
swept by the bustling wind
like autumn leaves.

For what he said
in what he believed,
was an agony,
but he was too strong in his afflictions.

He wrote his own fate
with his own words,
and his shadow was the reflection
of his own body.

They try to slash his own words,
but they could not slaughter his spirit,
for his spirit is free,
and his words are “verse libre.”

By: Sam Kuraishi
Chicago, Illinois, U/S.A.