My Love Letter

Introduction: This was a piece I wrote and recited at our Letters of Freedom show in March this year. The design concept was by Tanya_turi, she did a great job right?!!

Dear Freedom,

I write to you today to express my views on what you have and have not done for me since we first met each other. At our first encounter, when you learnt to talk, you told me that, now that you have come life would be the epitome of bliss, of fulfillment, no more pains, no tears and no hardship.

As I lay wrestling with sleep that night of 1990, the night you were born, you whispered about the removal of these shackles from my ankles, from my wrists, which now have been loosened but in no way thrown off just yet

You painted me a picture of us dancing on the golden savannah sands, kicking up the dust into the eyes of those who had placed me into bondage. The strait jacket has loosened but still my arms are pinned.The gun no longer points at my head but still it surveys the space.

Freedom, did you deceive me?

Did you lie to me?

Did you hoodwink me?

Did you? Did you? Did you?

I stand in a land of promise that flies into the wind and flows into gutters of filth.It rots in the garbage and seldom do we ask from where the stench comes from

Freedom, can you not see Poverty lurking on street corners and petrol stations with outstretched hands, begging for hope that you said would come with your arrival. We are still entrapped and still cry out for mercy.

Freedom, what is it

that we beg for?

is it not hope?

When I drive past the city I see Poverty digging deep into the garbage bags searching for gold that was harvested long ago by the already fortunate who left nothing behind but residue of the plundered black coal. Freedom, remember Unemployment? You know the vagabond (man on the bridge) who gallivants the streets with a brown envelope containing an under-written, under qualified CV with muddy dirt stains presenting it as a reminder of its origin. Squatted on the pavements of our cities, eyes lurking, searching…searching, always, always searching

Freedom, what is it

that we beg for?

is it not hope?

Poverty and Unemployment are both in a bad mood, they don’t send their greetings or jump at the sound of your name any longer. They say you have become like one of those, those that we promised ourselves never to become

Poverty sits in the corner, crying, depleted, forgotten mumbling in throaty tones, that no one hears or cares to understand

Unemployment does not talk to anyone, he drinks his beer, one after the other, until he reaches for the bat and beats down vigorously on Poverty and me

Freedom my life is bound unto you, we share the future all that we want it to be

Freedom do you no longer need me?

Do you know what it feels like to be kissed by your eternity?

By the blood shed for our reconciliation unto you

They rejoiced and called you the Father of Freedom,

Do you remember that?

I can never forget how happy you looked that day.

I’m writing the letters of Freedom into the starry night sky, hoping that a star or two will fall into the lap of the hopeless to restore the already smudged image of you

Freedom, I write to you in love and ask you to return and fulfill the destiny you were given. No one is mad at you, a little disappointed, but come make it right before it is too late, I will always support, encourage and assist you

With Love,

your sister Liberty