Reins of Freedom
He who stays mute behind his door for over 229 days
May expect to be granted a fair blessing in secret.
You carried your own burden and very soon
Your symptoms of creeping privilege disappeared.
Seamus Heaney “From the Republic of Conscience”
So I decide to wear out my boredom in vacuumed boredom,
And let seasons turn in their own solitary ways,
Persuading myself into believing that a bookman is good for nothing;
I will let those coming-and-going lingerers dry out from dawn to dusk,
The happy ones who never look up and know not their could-be whereabouts
But only the places where they have been planted and watered.
They have no hammocks, so they sit on folding chairs around an extra one,
On which they kill time and transform the surrounding air.
Occasionally, they follow others, at a sensible distance,
Only to make their following felt, oppressive but not assaulting.
They expose their darkly covered heads and wingless backs,
And we never exchange looks, but we know we have the same faces.
The reins of freedom harness us, loosely, without any hasps or hooks,
Like the fishing line that might connect the fisherman and his catch-to-be;
We each bear our own demon fetus, and we are lovers unable to make love.
April 10, 2008
229 days, referring to Prisoner in the Freedom City available at YouTube.