A Freeman’s Utopia

A Freeman’s Utopia

It’s a protest; a revolt, it’s nihilism too,
My motherland has no borders, no demarcation, no boundaries,
I didn’t open my eyes to one flag,
To one chunk of land,
To one passport,
To a distinguished nationality,
I opened my eyes to this planet, our mother Earth
Its beautiful silent beaches with the only voice of echoing water striking the shores,
To its vast stretches,
Its sky-high mountains, with clouds loitering in them,
To its breath-taking landscapes,
To its fields that engulfs every single ray of sun cast upon them each day,

Why am I incarcerated in only one part of it,
I had no flags carved in my skin when I was born,
I’m victimized by an unjust marginalization,
My flesh has been entangled in barbed wires, called borders, around this chunk of land I’m locked in,
And the vultures of prejudice and discrimination are feeding on it,
Racist monsters and parochial wolves, they’re feeding on it,
It clung there every time I tried to escape this penitentiary of discrimination,
Why do you think the decayed dead bodies are washing on shores?
They were once struggling to break their shackles, and leave their cells, to fall out of the grip of draconian laws,
Why do you think we discover dead bodies from shipping containers?
Because they embraced that momentary darkness and suffocation as their liberator,
Why men fall off the landing gears of a flying plane? Because they hid themselves there,
Hid themselves thinking that the plane might liberate them from their prison without the money those people have, who’re sitting in it,

Men around me are isolated; they die in the same street where they were once born,
They’re judged; judged by the conduct of their predecessors,
By the color of the document they carry,
When the horrors of death would grip me,
My soul won’t fade with a passport,
It will fade as a free soul,
Upon reincarnation from my grave on my Lord’s call,
I won’t rise with a visa, with a passport,
I’ll rise as a man,
On judgment day, I won’t be holding a star-spangled banner or a British cross, or the Turkish crescent,
I’ll hold a mirror reflecting my own conduct to providence,
My life is exclusive; a single stoppage of my breath will bury me deep into the soil,
Soil which doesn’t discriminate,
It’ll be the same; Rough, dark and diminishing,
It accepts everyone; black, white, Asian, Muslim, Jew,
When the soil doesn’t demand any passports, O you savage of a man, why you do?
You have divided the land, divided the water, the airspace, the flying zones,
The only thing you never divided is the sorrow of a man,
Set them free,

I live in a utopia, utopia of being free,
Free to move,
Move; From the City of Venice to the islands of Fiji,
From the Glass Beach of California to the glowing caves of New Zealand,
From the Greek Santorini to the Islands of Saint Lucia,
From Tuscany to the Sahara,
From the Great Falls of Niagra to the Himalayas,
From the Egyptian Pyramids to the City of Madinah,
From the Amazon forests to the Shrines of Lahore,
I’m just a claimant of my land,
Give it back to me.
I, the layman, have its possession,
A man with no recognition but one; the free inhabitant of the mother earth,
It’s a freeman’s utopia,
It’s a protest, a revolt.

Syed Muzammil Shah

Syed Muzammil Shah

Syed Muzammil is a Mass Communication graduate based in Lahore. He likes to write about social, cultural and current issues of the country.

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