I’m not a morning person but I woke up early one day,
I used to think the moon holds secrets but even the sunrise seemed furtive today.
It didn’t tell me it’s alright to be blue,
That the sky gets that way when the sun shines too.
It didn’t tell me the birds sing sad songs,
That even the chirping Koel’s heart isn’t satiated for long.
(Why does the cuckoo bird’s song seem so sad when it’s got its freedom?)
My steaming cup of coffee condenses into the orange sky,
Prepared to leave me too, it dances in the air, it tries to fly.
I gaze at the faraway bird flapping her wings, into the horizon till kingdom come,
‘Icarus stop’, I say, ‘you’ve flown too close to the sun’.
(Did the faraway bird know, the flip side of freedom?)
Many moons ago they fought, so I could be free to walk into the open lanes,
But if I’m so liberated why do I still feel that everywhere I’m in chains?
A bee raps gently at the potted lavender I planted,
The ants march on as the bee’s wish is granted.
I look at my open door, hoping for a similar knock,
In a moment the bee is gone, seeking a different, prettier stalk.
(Does is it have to be so lonesome, this freedom?)
I slammed the door when Mama said, ‘No, you’re not going out tonight.’
‘You can’t cage me up like this, not without a good fight!’
Sat on her bed, too large for one person, she winced like you do at a bee sting,
‘Dear girl, be sure not to break all your strings, without them you’re attached to
(So then, is this the cost of freedom?)
I go back in and lie down on the bed that’s too big, there’s nothing to watch on TV,
I now know the price of deliverance but there’s still a strange comfort in being free.