Freedom
I said to the old man, paddling in the sea.
‘You look so happy, so content, and free.’
He laughed, said, ‘Can’t you see,
Freedom’s whatever you want it to be.
It’s the tick, when the world’s going tock.
The hands, that wind back the clock.
It stops you running amok.
Freedom’s, Hip Hop. When everyone’s a punk.
Freedom’s Jenga, when everyone’s Kerplunk.
Freedom still grows. When everything’s shrunk.
It’s a Slam dunk.'
I said, ‘Why can’t I see?’
He said, ‘relax…just listen to me.
Freedom’s a sparrow, soaring like an eagle.
Exploring skies, like Jonathon Livingston Seagull.
If they could, they’d make it illegal.
It’s the writer unblocking the block.
The locksmith unlocking the lock.
It’s even the illogical, logic of Spock.
It can come as a shock.
It’s the rain, falling, on the plain, in Spain.
It’s laughing, out loud, in the face, of pain.
It’s the love, that can drive you insane.
Freedom doesn’t, wain.'
He said,
‘Once, like you. I, too, was blind.
Before, I tore, through ties that bind.
They can imprison your body.
But can’t shackle your mind.
Now do you, see?
You’re as free as free can be.’
He laughed, splashed water at me…
and flew away,