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.