Standing here looking outside my window,
Then it dawns on me that cells don’t have windows. I’m a prisoner of my own mind.
Wait, no I’m not. Oh, my mind is playing tricks and I’m losing.
My windows are gray and don’t let in sunshine or air, not even a little peek or a slight draft. Who ever designed them has done well.
Yes, I can see the green grass and the lush gardens in my backyard. I can smell the morning mist and feel the sun on my face as it rises. I can right?. I can’t? What do you mean I can’t? Look out there, the flowers are blooming…
Wait, what happened to the flowers? Why are they suddenly gray, who painted them so? Oh I see, someone closed the windows again, I rise to open it and it dawns on me again.
Cells don’t have windows.
I’m tired, so I don’t have windows?. Its late and I need some sleep, I undress and drop on my bed… oh such bliss, the comfort of having a plush bed. I toss and feel cold, why is the bed cold? I reach for my duvet and I wake. Cells don’t hold beds.
The hard floor became harder as realization dawned, it is unrelenting as it hammers kinks into my frozen bones. My little insects friends come for their share of my body.
I drift off and find my self back on my bed, yeah I so knew I wasnt in a cell, I mean come on, it’s so soft and I can feel the tender breath of my lover against my nape. I turn to give him a good morning kiss but all I feel against my blistered lips is the cold cruel wall.
Once again, I am reminded.
Cells don’t hold beds.
I stand up, strech the kinks outta my aching bones, why I have been sitting down for hours I don’t understand. I need to take a stroll. Yeah, some exercise will do me some good. I take my first step but I am drawn back. What is it this time around Ehn? Chains on my feet? No.
Cells don’t free you.
Life is sweet but freedom is even sweeter, I knew I was no prisoner.
The streets are alive and everyone I pass greets with warm smiles. So happy and free they are, so happy and free I am. I am?. Happy and free??
I’m no longer a prisoner of my words?
I don’t bow down to the wishes of my thoughts no more?
Nah I am still a prisoner. Stop messing with me, mind. It’s not funny.
I am a prisoner of words unsaid.
Thoughts unprocessed. Actions yet to be acted. A slave to myself.
I kick a stone into the gutter and prepare to cross it. Freedom is sweet I tell you.
Stretching my feet across the gutter, I am suddenly yanked back. Wait!. What?
Cells don’t free you.
This brilliant piece was mailed to me by Wuraola Abulatan, and I was more than happy to share her work here . Please leave your comments