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Poetry: Freedom In Chains

By Sikhanyisiwe Lunga

Is being free really freedom?

Are we really free in this kingdom?

Aren’t we just used to this boredom?

Living in sin as if in Sodom.

Encircling in ecstatic madness as if in Edom.

They say we are free but fetters bind our feet.

They say we are living in brightly lit homes but no candles are lit.

They say we are free but cuffs tightly grip our hands.

They say we can sing songs of freedom but discord characterizes the bands.

They say we are free to speak but choked and achy are our words.

The fields we ploughed, but weeds were scattered at night.

The roads we trod, but so blurry was our sight

The armor we put on but so wearisome was the fight.

Is freedom really freedom?

Or freedom really freedom?

Nay, I have seen it all and my eyes can take it no more

So powerless are my wings, no more do I have the strength to soar.

To soar above the sky was my greatest aspiration,

But too tired were the people supposed to give me motivation,

And thus I sit lonely as if I gatecrashed at a wedding.

Yes, I am free but am in chains.

The warden can do nothing lest she loses her wages.

Is freedom really freedom?

When we are so used to this boredom,

When living in sin as though in Sodom,

When encircling in ecstatic madness as if in Edom.

Then our freedom is only in chains and not freedom.

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