FREEDOM

Freedom looks like a pre-dusk dying of light, ebbing away with a promise. Clinging to the horizon in some magical land, vouching for hope & serenity, almost huddled together. 

Freedom is sweeter than love, 

a transient friendship yet friendship nonetheless that takes a lifetime to rub off. 

It only knows to give, 

for freedom is love, love isn't freedom.

Living is a series of tribulations towards it. 

Freedom lurks in the sorrow of refugees, their search for belonging, in the maddening fury of women's eyes as they hear shells & fire on extremely silent nights.

It ambushes among the unhurried calls of a morsel of bread when the earth goes barren.

Freedom is in the noise of a head buried in the chest of a lover, 

coming out of a storm that ends with waves ashore,

moistening feet & embracing death.