God...
If it is not too humiliating to ask... how I’d also like to rest. How I’d like to find time to laze and to make love. How I’d like to stray amidst the fields and run free. to savor the feeling of life...
But I remain silent as is my destiny. Because I may not ask. I am not given the chance of freedom.
I pull the plow beneath the sun. As did my mother and my father before ne. Silencing their humiliation.
The wind is thin. A consoling breeze soothes thirst for a moment.
I wait for night to fall when locked in my stable I sink nto merciful sleep to dream… Along with thousands and thousands of other slaves who bound to a plow have created the world of Man.
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