Sunday Poem By Jhilam Adhikary

Free Time

Free time is a myth I wonder, Like a small candy as a bribe, Expections justified nicely, strongly, By those who designed them, For themselves and the others: The small dumb ones who cannot speak Unless spoken to, as a formality; Burdened up, loaded, packed, With the heaviest bag, and a marksheet, And fear, the most important part of it, Forced ready for a future that doesn’t matter, Not worrying or wondering if it even exists, Training the mind and body: days, hours, minutes, Not just as a part of life, but AS LIFE: A trained world, where kids carry their homeworks To battlefields and hospitals, never to return, ever: A free time is never there, it’s just a myth; A child is born, designed to die like this.

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