I am born a Human But chained like a Dog. They say I am Free But my soul is in Bonds.
I am free to Speak But my words are Chosen. I have the right to Think But my thoughts Controlled.
I am free to Walk On the roads Predefined. I can make my Choices Within acceptable Bounds
I can live my Life The way I am Told. I can have my Dreams They’ll decide how they Unfold
I can breathe, laugh and enjoy All I need to do is Comply. And then I can fly High With wings they provide.
The final straw will also be fit When it is time to say quit I will have the choice When they tell me how my death will arrive.
Poet’s Note – Not sure when I wrote this but this was sometime in the 90’s. Life has been filled with ups and downs, variety of experiences more so being a woman in India where you are constantly being told how to behave, how to laugh how to walk, talk, sit, stand, the list is endless. Thanks to my parents I grew the way I was and as some people call me, I am a wild flower or plant from the jungle. I don’t mind cause I choose to be what I want to be and choose to do what I want to do. Freedom of choice is an illusion we all like to believe in.
I can't call myself a writer but yes I have enjoyed penning down my thoughts, at times sharing at other times secretly saving them. In school and college had some of my work published and I did participate in essay writing and debating but never took it up professionally. That was a choice I don't regret. Internet and social media have somewhere given me the courage to re-discover this side of me and I am glad that I have started sharing. I will definitely try to be more active. I enjoy all kinds of writing and what I write or read does not always depend on my mood. There have been times when I have been extremely happy but the words that I have penned down have been extremely sad and poignant and vice-versa. It is wonderful to connect with more poets/writers through this site.
Whirlpool of emotions spins… When u think . Who’s first choice u r… Is Solitude always an answer… When life just echos your chaios.. Among first words ever told.. A voice calls you ‘Amma’ … As though all my questions