What Is Freedom? Poem by Vaibhav Simha

Yet now, despite our efforts vary,
A man still now is chained by the want of glory,
And a child imprisoned indoors, all tired and weary-
Not under protest, but by his will, which sure stuns me and is scary.

Still now and let it be that all our nations be free.
But a man is its servant with a seldom great commodity,
And his leaders are blinded by the mist of dishonesty.
Yet there's another prison, called a grave, to trap a man after he leaves for eternal tranquility.

Until now, animals, for least, were the happiest,
Free and proud. But today they are going through their greatest
Sorrows of life and dangers, yet no man is ready to be the kindest
Of them all, which sure makes me get lost in sorrow as now, I'm the saddest.

So now, what is freedom?
Is it happiness of living a life, be it in bliss or in boredom?
Or is it walking freely, though there are dangers lurking?
Or is it the opportunities we get, which may or may not be the best?

O' great human, are you still in a confusion?
Or is that your great heart doesn't want you to know?
It's heart, yes our hearts, the centre of love and circulation,
But sometimes guides our way out of the great illusion.

Be it you are a slave or the greatest of them all,
Your heart's voice shall be your best call,
A call that has the power to break the strongest of the chains
And the control of the evilest of the brains.

Let you be a painter, a painter who paints by the will of your heart,
A painter who paints his own life and his mind shall be a mere part;
And the flow of the paint over his life's canvas
Is the freedom you have been wishing for!