In the cruel clasp of coercion’s hand,

Teach me not the art of passive stand.

Rather, fling my spirit into strife’s darkest day,

Where I may battle tempests, unbowed in the fray.

 

From my lips, the bitter venom drips,

A soothing release from reality’s grips.

In melodies harsh, an odd peace I retrieve,

In the acrid notes, a solace I conceive.

 

Within my veins, sin’s sweet liquor lies,

No dread of doom, no tearful eyes.

From earthen bonds, to the earth return,

Infinite cycles of breath, from which I learn.

 

My sustenance drawn from the very soil,

In which I toil, from which I coil.

Yet, whispers of the cosmos through the void repeat,

Calling me, from celestial sheets.

 

Alive, yet consumed by earth’s ravenous gaze,

Her appetite vast, through endless days.

Scattered essence, gather me whole,

From the echoes of existence, reclaim my soul.

 

As I fade, let creation’s word resound,

“Be!”—from the void, let my form be found.

Beneath the watch of Shamr’s blade, lowly I bow,

Seek release from this temporal vow.

 

Why forge me from nothingness, if naught I am to be?

Allow me this query, from celestial decree.

Piece by piece, Mohsin gathers what’s torn,

Broken by pleas, from the very morn.

 

Thus, from the dust of stars and dreams interlaced,

I seek answers in the infinite, boldly embraced.