The Desolate Island Poem by Bonics Bachinela

A desolate island, wailing in misery,
To mercy it beseech, but refused.
To equality it may at least has right but, what a sly,
It was left deserted in mimicry!

Poor soul in agony,
The steadfast hope, in gradual, fading.
The confidence accords; and, reliance, concords.
To relinquish, remains a long task. And, unending.

Though heads are turned away.
To the right track, kept astray.
Yet a fool but in sound soul,
Standing with integrity in yesterday's presses and foul.

The scorns and mocks are irrational.
The gifts though hidden but devotional.
Now, It came to realize… what a great prize!
It is far more blessed than anybody else.
What a dust in rise!