068| Won

26 7 2

Failed she crawls back home
A rucksack in her hands
Bony arms and darkened souls
With a weight of tons, she stands

Hunger and poverty her allies
As she sleeps half dead
The struggles of finding food
Is rumbling in her head

An old torn sheet over her body
She curl in herself
A pinch of her dies with
Every outtake of breath

The morning call for
A plate of hope
Her blood is drying off
Her veins become ropes

Touched by thousands
Felt by none
She wakes up everyday to find herself
Under the same sun

Lost multiple times, yet
Won the strings of life
When she threw away
The sharpened knife

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