Garima Mahajan
I am not free.
I say this as it is.
I let it sit in your cup like old, forgotten coffee.
The feeling growing like pesky creepers on your terrace,
Creeping in your heart like that known unknown ballad.
I do not twine metaphors
Because frankly speaking, I don’t have many.
I am not free.
This poem is not free.
We swirl together in the air.
Like the kite
Rising and falling
Never quite free
Falling and rising
Never quite bound
Rising and falling
Never quite free.
The kite swirls like me
The string pulling harder than the wind.
I swirl like the kite
In waves and lightyears
The mind pulling my strings harder than the heart.
Until all that remains is a poem
Devoid of feeling
Stale and forgotten,
Growing in spaces, unwanted,
Known yet unknown,
Swirling like the kite.
I pull the string harder than gravity.
We are quite alike.
We are not free.
We rent spaces
In crowded niches.
Till we find new homes,
A home in her eyes
On days when the blue hides and we seek.
A home in my heart
On days when the mind hides and the heart seeks.
A home in your heart
On days when I hide and you seek.
Maybe we’ll be free one of these days.