Freedom

Freedom comes in all forms, shapes and sizes

It comes in large packages against a bundle of collateral
And in small installments, with surprising intensity.

There is no way you can ignore them when they arrive. 

It may catch you unaware some time

but may also take years of hard work to get there.

It takes you out of some boxes, 
Only to put you in others.

Unless you keep an eye on it, 
Freedom, itself turns into bondage.

There is a kind of freedom that comes early on.

With the knowledge that you are not beautiful.

You are then liberated from even trying to be one.

You can laugh out loud and look lousy in photographs.

You can break those lines of your face,

They are not perfect anyway. 

No one was looking for a pretty face there!

You are free from lipsticks and mascara

You can travel with a toothbrush in your bag.

The flip side?

You feel you must pull out your necklace and hide it,

Even before you reach the last step of the staircase.

And you often forget to pack the comb!

A kind of freedom hurts you so much that you wonder

Is this something you really wanted?

You stand alone in the crossroads,
with bloodied knees and bruised elbows,

As the crowd gathers around you and says

"You are free!", they say, "Finally!"

You try to believe the finality in their voices,
With all sincerity.

And then, late at night, 
Walk back looking for a new bondage in every street corner.

Another kind of freedom is needed!

Because it is the call of the hour.

Because it is not a good idea to not to be free.

Because we must shed all that symbolizes the chain.

Because free is the way to be.
Or because....whatever!

So what the pull leaves you lacerated?

So what you wanted to cling like the mother to her baby?

Be free! You know it is the right thing to do.

What! You are still undecided about that!

Then there is that kind of freedom that is hard earned 

At times after years of struggle.

And this kind is never final.

You do not have the assurance that it is there,

Unless you guard it like a jealous lover.

It is not a destination...

But once you find it, there is no going back.

You practice it every day.

Like that young boy who strains his voice,
To match the notes of a new-found song.

You try hard to hear that heart beat and sing at the same time.

It burns on your tongue, gives you head ache,

And leaves you sleepless for nights.

But you love it all the same.

This freedom is lived each moment.

You live it by the way you walk, talk, laugh and cry.

The way you tell your head to not to fall in line.

"That is not why you have been born", you tell yourself.

It is the way you still practice questioning, everyday. 

This freedom asks you to push the bar a bit more every day...

And you oblige.