imprisoned

i am inside the prison
with four tall walls around;
scarcely some sun light penetrate
into my house, encasing of my thought

in those thin beams of light
i read the writings on the wall;
is it a bulletin board
a media for the inmate,

or, are these graffiti,
an expression of revolt,
carelessly etched and scribbled
to the blind with open eyes

that imprisons the innocent;
that i, for sure, know not
but with my training in art
and science of hermeneutics,

i scribble notes in my mind
those invisible pages
sometimes pasted together
by that oozing of my tears

making the turning too hard;
pray, patience, and prosperity,
these codes i frequently sight
on wall preying on my soul