Freedom
We are free
But are we really?
Our bodies stuck in an unremitting trance,
The puppet master has let down and folded his hands,
And yet we continue to participate in this unabating dance.
Acting for them and playing the fool,
Insecure to revert to our past selves,
For fear of ridicule.
As they orchestrate,
This carefully controlled chaos.
This fake and false freedom.
Minds.
Bodies.
Generations.
Chained to the system.
Bone-deep tiredness, from working for them,
Mistaking their façade of concern,
While their acceptance, you intensely yearn.
Our history they have defaced,
And now your roots, you find difficult to trace.
Are you awake?
But even in our dreams,
The shadows are passing,
Underneath the door of our conscience.
Entering and plaguing the peacefully still mind,
Until you are constrained in the prison of nightmares
And blocked by the bars of tribulation,
That you will remain behind.
Their burdens, sorrows and stress do I carry,
But their aspirations, dreams and wishes, do I hold close.
Mixed with everything, and yet sure am I
That I will do more than just merely survive.
The Sun emits rays which hugs and sustains our beings.
And like the Sun we will glow,
Despite the cold, or coverings which try to overshadow.
Their cries still echo in my ears
Their scars still brand my body
Blood-red letters that decorated their bodies, now mar my soul.
Their pain still lingers,
Wounds healing ever so slowly.
Asking me to forget is almost an insult.
