All I Did With Freedom

By Suchismita Ghoshal

Freedom is similar to flowing water,

a beautiful amalgamation of hydrogen and oxygen.

Nobody ever dares to prevent it from flowing.

Freedom is the gentle torture,

an inch more can choke your breath

and an inch less can belittle you.

Freedom is like the summer sun

The sharper it gets, the more you screech.

But today the world before me

seems to lose its power.

Freedom of speech—a distant dream.

I am sucked into it every time.

The first time was when I learnt

to stop my tongue running

against my puritanical father,

the second time was when I saw my

mother shattered on the floor

and I didn’t let my words come out

of a mouth, bandaged,

the third time when I let my teachers

not know the true reason for my chronic absence,

the fourth time when I willingly let my lover abuse

me for the way I dress

the fifth time when I chose to run

from the bullies rather than speaking up on the spot,

the sixth time when I saw my best friend

accused me of a nefarious reason

of snatching her boyfriend and all I did was

offer her a ‘freedom of speech’,

the seventh time when I let my scream

stick in the pillow for my voice tasted bitter

in the vulnerable hours of night,

the eighth time when I crumpled the paper

in which I drew a woman resembling

just like me with all the bittersweet flaws,

the ninth time when I almost

sucked my depression against my will

to provoke my anxiety for a dangerous

torment almost to death,

and the tenth time when I wrote this poem

freeing my thoughts on how I let the

‘freedom of speech’ chop my wings

for the ‘freedom of living’,

part by part, day by day!

Copyright© 2020 by Suchismita Ghoshal (storytellersuchismita)

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