Locked Poet : Free Poem

She looked at me with eyes anchored by tears,

she couldn't even wave at my disappearing figure,

A blow right across my face...





That was the last time I saw her,

as i was whisked away by dogs of their master,

sent to capture a free poet like game meat,

foolish dogs that didn't value the flow of poetry,

all they valued was the flow of liquor from their master,

I swear they could drink it from his mouth,

like a mid day bath under an African waterfall.





In the mid of a political unrest in my motherland,

My poem flew from my paper to people's ears,

hoped from their eyes straight into their hearts,

Opened their minds and filled them with a boldness,

a boldness only an injured bull could fathom,

and yes, they were injured bulls in the shade,

abused and waiting in line to vote for another butcher.

The butchers conversed and decided that I had caused the unrest,

they said my poem was a threat to national security,

they said my poem was a thorn in the flesh of national development




I had no lawyer in my defense, the crowd gave me enough solace,

Their pregnant eyes told what they wanted, me.

not that I had the slightest hope of winning,

it was like mosquitoes holding a strike in an insecticide factory,

I had no chance and no fear either,

My palms folded and my heart beating,

my face straightened and the boldness of my poem ignited,

I was sentenced to solitude confinement,

the judge with a signature pot of food for a stomach had his claims,

that my words were too dirty even for the walls.





Her memories came back, the woman who had nursed me,

both in body and emotion,

stood beside and for me when all avoided a bait of arrest,

I could only fathom her face at the laughter aimed at her,

an innocent lamb suffering for her companion's rightness.





So here I am, guarded nay surrounded by hyenas and dogs,

unable to make their own decisions, following orders,

told that I am a dangerous and potential of planning a treason,

You see, as my great father once said,

You don't sit with the bait when hunting.

Here, they were sitting with the bait as the real culprit visited everyone,

My poem.

Yes, I call them foolish because I didnt open minds,

My poem did and if they were wise enough,

can they bruise and hail blows at my poem?

can they put my poem to unfair trial?

can they rip off my poem from the people's lips and minds?

can they tell the people that they aren't free people?

Can they break down my poem to meaningless syllables?

Until they do that, I regard them as foolish as they are thieves.

Oh how foolish of them! MY arrest was the best fuel for my poem's popularity,

They banned it from the news and made it illegal,

Yet they themselves had already given the people thirst for illegal things





I hear gunshots and tuck away my letters sneaked in by a patriot,

I know the moment has come,

I might not come out alive but the nation is ready to be reborn,

I might be forgotten as the depths of Hades swallow me,

But my poem still lives on and precedes the birth of a nation