A Breath of Freedom

A Breath of Freedom

Wish it were a blank sheet

of paper virgin white

and I could write

my story all in a different light.

The sad songs would not be frowned upon;

neither would the timber of the life be drowned

 nor would the losses and defeats be crowned.

Wish it were not a lonesome song to be sung alone.

Piles of paper lay before

and I loaned them to the alien scribe,

and they paid me to sing their ballads

as I dug the grave for my own demise.

I made my deities out of the clay and rags

hidden in the nooks and corners of the darkness of my heart

and like the dolls of childhood

stowed them away

to be sunned and refreshed at a later day.

A voice that was heard and was destined to be heard

when I was least aware that there was a spring throbbing in me,

woke me up to a different day.

There are words I still cannot speak, a language that I still not dare to learn;

But I breathe a fresh air, and my breath, suspended between the moment gone and the one to come,

is the breath of freedom.