Lost Freedom

I once walked with open skies above me,

every breath a promise,

every step my own.

But now the air feels borrowed,

the walls too close,

the chains too quiet to ignore.

Freedom is not always stolen in a storm—

sometimes it slips away softly,

like sand leaking through open hands,

until you wake one morning

and realize your wings

have been clipped while you slept.

I remember the taste of it—

the wind against my face,

the laughter unafraid of echoes,

the silence that belonged to me

and no one else.

Now silence is a prison,

and laughter sounds like betrayal.

They say freedom lives in the heart,

but what if the heart itself is caged?

What if every dream is watched,

every thought weighed,

every choice shackled by invisible hands?

I search for the key,

but it was never mine to hold.

And so I sit here,

breathing,

existing,

yet not alive—

a bird with eyes on the sky

but no strength left to fly.

Freedom—

I have not forgotten you.

I carry your ghost in my bones,

and though I may never touch you again,

you are the ache

that keeps me human.