Tuesday, December 28, 2010

ON FREEDOM

That window roasted spinning chicken
at which we stare with watery mouths,
my dog and me, must think of itself
as being freer as compared with
his peer specimens. I guess it surely
considers it noble to fly orderly
in the usual anticlockwise direction,
spared from the wind’s whim
and the migratory lure of nurture.

So they say I could only benefit from revamped liberty,
if only I opted for a style of living which provided me
with wider informed choice and selection.
Gibberish: the most relevant resolutions come ready-made,
I am not the author of whatever I amount to be,
nor is anybody I know or ever heard of.
I could have been born a workaholic,
becoming good for even more nothing,
without none having ever experienced the urge to decide
when or how well I should kill my time.

But I am the first to grant myself all the trite curious
petty treats to whose election one is entitled
and I am the very first to defend them against
your naturally too good concerned intrusion.
For instance, I would never change my prerogative
to sleep each night anywhere I feel like
for the fade discretion to pick out once in a year,
having coffee with Joe, the dealer,
a brand new car to drive
(as though I had no feet of my own,
able to drive me when I don't feel tired
in order to wish I also got tyres...).
Similarly, why should I resign
to waking up and choosing among some pieces
the cloths I will put on,
when I am able to gather from the freshest washing-line
all those I want,
and have them dry on the warmth of my body
while I run for my soul
from a raging former owner?

Liberties, as truths
don’t hang on peacefully together.
Then why ought I to get married and grow kids,
allowing all that people to besiege me
with the sharp claws of their wills?
They say a guy's freedom concludes
as soon as someone else's starts.
I claim that a guy's freedom bids its leave
as immediately as the other guy's too.

But I understand there is indeed
a deeper sense with regard to
a man can be told his own master:
it is when not even our own company meddles in,
and we can move about all by ourselves,
released from the tyranny of our likings
and from the very necessity of having likings,
watching as perfect strangers
each gesture clinching by their own initiative
onto the barren bareness of our fingertips.

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