I was told I cried the first time I opened my eyes,
I'm sure they told you the same.
But, why did we cry?
Could it be because we were sent here against our will,
Because we were not consulted before being made?
Did we cry because we knew our life was going
To be one of struggles right from when these eyes
Opened till they finally close on their own?
Is it then safe to say there's nothing like freedom?
Since our birth and death are beyond our jurisdiction.
I would have said that freedom is unattainable
until you and I are six feet down, rotting beneath this grime
after becoming the product of God's answer
to the prayers of worms–Our skulls scary like the prototype
of what filled our lives, while we were yet disjointed bones: fear,
But,
Even while the body is rotting, returning to dust,
Freedom is still not guaranteed for the soul.
So tell me, I pray you.
Is there really anything like freedom?
©Akinwole John Akintayo
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