Quiet Revolution

Stepping from a steep hill
There is a silence whirling, sweeping
In one’s conscience
Where the only consolation is to be free.
When one is in doubt
But would like to keep the faith in the air —
Would it matter if man continues to hope
Or follow blindly the law of divine?
We, therefore, speak of freedom
Like it is inevitable and has to be consumed
But never truly understood
What it means to be free.
We try to look for meaning
Yet all is lost in a wandering mind:
We seek and seek and seek
But we never wanted to see.
The freedom we are willing to die for
Is dying inside, slowly and painfully.
All because we are afraid to be

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