With a tongue sharper than a sword, 
The naysayer cut my heart,
He tried to take the hope locked within,
and feed it to the crows.

When he cut my heart open,
he saw that there lay my hope,
shivering with a new found chaos,
holding on to a single candle for light.

He challenged and taunted me,
asking me how can I hold hope as a captive
in a small heart as of mine,
He told me that I was a sinned one,
Who robbed the world of hope.

With his colossal hands
he grabbed my hope,
Trying to yank it away from my heart,
and the candle it was trying to hold.

I was arrested with shock,
I let the naysayer touch my hope.
But, when my hope looked upto me,
my silence broke to a struggle.

I pushed the naysayer away,
and cut his tongue.
I nurtured my hope and 
mended my heart.

To this day, my hope lives there,
dreaming of dreams unheard of.
It talks to me often,
asking me of the naysayers.
I reply, “No naysayer will ever touch my hope,
for it is no one’s to touch”.