Dying To Be Unchained
Hours to days came and passed
weeks to months and even years
a decade to almost two
within me a poet was gravely dying to be unchained
seeking freedom of expression
seeking freedom of speech
So restless he was
pounding inside me like a palpitating heart
dying to be unchained
to be a poet to live among poets
to speak out his voice
to let out his cries
His ambiguous murmurings
would often steal my attention
as I pondered over them
as deep thoughts possessed my mind
as deep feelings oozed from my heart
and permeated my blood stream
Often I wondered to myself
what really this tide of emotions is
ushering me through a reminiscent of my past
till I realized that within me is a poet
gravely dying to be unchained
Then I discovered my love for the pen to pen
the poet’s voice when he grows restless
when he rattles the chains locking him
when he metamorphoses my deep thoughts
into a sequence of poems
dying to be unchained
My love for the pen grew
stage by stage with age
and when the poet in me speaks
I grab a piece of paper for the pen to ejaculate on
poetic lines diffusing from my right hand
filled with poetry laced blood
onto the pen to mark the birth of a poem
the voice of the poet in me
UNCHAINED
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