Ever thought that if instead of green stems,

It was a vein flowing with crimson blood?

If instead of white fibrous cellulose roots,

It was thick black keratinous hair?

If instead of waxy-cutaneous foliates,

It was sebum sweating skin,

That hums the pain which resonates

The torture of a lusty rape;

Reincarnated as vandalism, nails and screws?

When xylem is no more than a cry for help,

Evading from between human lips;

The pain is similar.

Where are the aristocrats?

Where is the judiciary?

When will we wake up to these silent cries?

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