Saturday, January 12, 2019

Anoucheka Gangabissoon writes

My freedom

My freedom
Cried out my soul
What has become of it?

My freedom
Languished my mind
How come it now feels
As empty as a moonless night?

My freedom
Yearned my poetic mood
Shall my pen and my paper now be kept hidden
As if,
Oh how cruel,
As if,
They were mere vulgar pieces of trash?

My freedom,
Agonised the individual that inhabits me
Has it been captured
And kept prisoner
By the transient keepers of the world
Those who care not to see that life is
Only meant to be taken as a holiday tour?

My freedom,
Famished my opinions
Has it been able to open the locks of its cage
And to fly out
Free, soaring over seas and lands,
Caring not about the broken pieces that I have become?

My freedom,
Pained my heart,
My freedom is there in love's warmth
And love remains as cold as frozen ice
Dizzying me as would a sip of vodka!

My freedom,
Decided my conscience,
Shall be etched out in thousands of poems
So that it deems it best
To come back to me
As naturally as tides are pulled by the moon!
Image result for moon tide poem paintings
Tidal Moon --  Marina Petro

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