Nothing can enervate him.
He has the endless fount of puissance
He isn't frail.
He has a gun,
A gun that never run out of bullets,
A gun that fire bullets so deep
That those penetrate through thousands of walls.
None can hinder him.
Not even a mob.
He can summon the cavalry of words
And take the mob over.
He own the papers,
As if those are his mansions;
Much bigger,
Bigger than the greatest,
The bullets his gun fired were __more than just letters.
Those were the broad strata of truth.
Those poured out like an avalanche,
Against the odds, the evil, the wrong.
The ink possess such strength,
Such strength one would crave to possess,
Such strength that can gust a wind,
A wind of change.
The writer is a grade 10 student from Bir Shreshtha Noor Mohammad Public College.