we laugh, now,
about how it was “over dramatized”
the struggle for freedom
we laugh, over tea
over momos, over cigarette smoke
but i know a girl, who’s father passed away
from injuries
spending the last few years of his life
with limbs that had atrophied
thinking of him.
of her, not yet 13
freedom isn’t so funny

a while back, a friend wrote, of feeling watery
and though i liked the words, the analogy
they had no meaning, until lately
these days i understand the liquid motion
the way i feel like i’m overflowing
like i’m lulling in a container (to borrow from Murakami)
taking shape then losing form
of being so…lose
so changeable
so sway-able
so, indeed, watery


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