A Prisoner..

When one controls another, Lord, victory is to the masters, When this body has the keypads, Lord, the souls are scribbled with dirt, Confusion in my own existence, The great cold war between the two, The body and the soul are as friends and foes, Lord, the body possessively needs the sorrows, At first it seems to be happy and ecstatic, When roaming on the streets for alms, The luxury to the body is not wrong, When my body does good deeds to the soul, Forgetting is the torturing word, When one has the brain and remembrance, Pleasant moments wonderfully ferment, Let my body works hard for my happy soul, My soul in my body is a vagrant, Always neglected during cajoling, My healthy young body is fierce and cunning, In which my attached soul is a prisoner..