Treasure Island

ANI GABRIEL IFEANYI


Freedom!


Freedom!


Give me freedom, yes, freedom like a bird,
As the sun reign in the day, and moon falls at night.
Freedom of liberty, not by my strife or might,
Let this ashes be forgotten, like a phonix aroused from dead.

Give me freedom, and my rainbows be revived,
For fortune seated on the path whence am deprived.
Let me stumble, faint and rise, to know the laws of life,
And success to embrass greatness, as peace relieves strife.

Give me freedom, like a loosened rain, from the webs of the cloud,
Let me break like hailstones, that flourishes when allowed!
Sniff not my trace, or nose around my darkened paths,
To observe the voice of my bleeding wounds in traps or darts.

Give me freedom, and let victory unchain my hope,
For the fastest horse never race when stifled with a stable‘s rope.
Who can tell a vulture that, blood is guilt and not a sweet wine?
So does freedom‘s taste is unbitter to the longing tongue of mine!

Give me freedom, like dusts perish in rain and swims with floods,
And piles again to sands in the shores, as the sea muds.
For my wrong shalt ignite my right, to unleash the heights i crave,
Waiting in yawn, and yowling for dawn, had made me a bereaved slave!

Give me freedom, YOU, my heart is a basket exhaled of breath,
In panting and tilling and roaming, on earth‘s restless bed.
Ring me with lotus of peace and garlands of wealth,
For humilities reward, is now unfound in patience‘s stead.

Should I still pest on, to be a fulfilled Capricon,
Who toils independently without a hand from any one?
But of a surety; freedom must unstif this boy,
Darkness is fragile, and the mornings‘ strength is joy!

Give me freedom, that transcends criticism or my mental library,
For there is no liberty in silence, like the sacred cemetery,
That host's the visitors of his evil peer, the blind slaughterer.
Can silence and not craves, triumph loneliness from deep dungeon's bar?

Give me freedom, for my shivering voice in petition echoes and sinks,
My heart is a grave of secrets, like the guilty-innocence of a diary,
That gag it mouth with raffia leaves and it bark covering inks,
Of record, of thought and unforgiving plots, unetched from it memory!

Give me freedom, for crying had clearer washed this eye; to sight vainfull pursuits,
The dryness of sand stormed crops turned to barren fruits.
If this calling horizons had ran out the frames of it portrait,
Then, luck had a mischance to strike the charms of a gory fate.

(C) 2012. Ani Gabriel ifeanyichukwu.

Submitted: Wednesday, August 22, 2012

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