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The Walk of Freedom

Harsha Sewani

I gaze outside the window,
as the sun conceals behind the clouds.
Wondering how far the street goes on,
how the wind blows through the crowds.
How the road links up with the building,
I ponder on the subject a little.
I see a boy devouring an ice cream by the cart,
while an old man strolls by having bones that are brittle.
The kids play without any agitation,
I witness the magic of bricks attaching themselves to become a wall.
The colour is a beautiful hue of pink,
the smell of cement pricks my nose as I sprawl.
Dear mum inside the house runs around finishing up chores
while brother rushes outside the door.
My sister jumps up and down,
permission for going outside is all she is asking for.
Mum’s eyes are lingers on me,
how I feel she thinks through day and night.
But I can’t walk while stuck on the wheelchair,
Keep reminding myself, I don’t know freedom.
I don’t know how kids enjoy,
while they run around catching balls.
Or what it is like to be in the water,
moving my hands and feet to crawl.
I’m on the wheelchair, I don’t know freedom.
Keep reminding myself, I don’t know freedom.


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