Continuing again, the third part of the poem (excerpt from one of my longer poems) -  

Those days crossing the homely turmoil 

And a mind full of fierce spiritual struggle

We believed the world was a swamp 

And you have to fly over it

Those days when, after continuous knocks

No door was opening, so we moved around 

Meandering, waving, and shifting

Synthesizer tones

Keeping alive the body and the soul

With the faith that life is always about 

Hopes and dreams

Those days when you worked your ass off 

To build something and 

Lost everything in one false step

Those blind, bitter days of pain

When like those

Who returned after the war

You are happy to come out alive

But even in the silence of your surroundings

You hear the voices of those 

Who couldn’t make it

Your tongue limps and your throat convulses