Indra Hatpins
‘Free as a kite',
I despise that expression.
With a mind that isn't blind,
You'd see the string,
And its restraining purpose.
A rein, a barrier,
The tiger is in chains,
Voices are muffed,
Gazes drop in pain.
You might be tempted
To judge me a pessimist,
Trust your gut instincts,
I'm a cup brimming with negatives.
I do admit; times have improved,
But kites still fly on strings attached.
Freedom is ideal, quite fanciful,
Less of a fact,
When taking a step,
Be it of love or out of anger,
In an effort to express
Or just to draw some laughter,
There's a pause…
"Is that joke a little off?"
"Would I be fed to trolls
For my political thoughts?"
"Should I call the cops,
Would they even listen?"
"Is it unsafe to protest?"
"What lurks outside the closet?"
"If I go public, in public interest,
What is the risk?"
"If I report my workplace boss,
The pervert, would I be dismissed?"
"If I decide to run this story,
Would this be my final piece?"
"Can the courts set out to punish me
Just because I disagree?"
Countless souls in a pinch
With similar questions
That prick like pins and needles,
They fear the consequences
Of marching their thoughts
And aspirations into action.
Self-censored silence,
A surrender, it's tragic.
So tell me, exactly,
How free can a kite be
When a tug is always
Grounding it back into reality,
The one I see, combining errors
Into inequalities,
A cruel society
Where too many are too scared to speak,
Where the oppressed exist quietly,
Like drifting kites,
In the likeness of peace.