Yesterday still lives in my eyes

Like a sharp old needle that pierced my skin

Left bastards of babies called memories,

I fetched my past from the library of my mind

Restyled my character but the same me remained

I am switching to the stations of my past

Swimming in colors of everything that breathes life

Hunt the words that project my freedom, armed

I am a broken winged bird with hopes on my wings

But empty like a throne in the chest,

My heart pumps anger into my veins, sometimes

And the butterflies in my chest blinks with tears

I am a lovely past stocked in the memories of me

Thrown in the gutters, but history refused them

I read the writings my grandfather wrote to me

On the white pages that now turns brown

Under the pillows soaked with tired sweat

But I must confess

I am beautiful now that I know my past