Whose Freedom?

Is it truly freedom when heavy shackles still remain

On how a woman should live, 

bound by invisible chains?

Society dictates her path 

how much she must give,

While men wear freedom like a crown, 

free to live.

Men flaunt freedom like a royal cloak,

While women move unseen, 

like shadows in smoke.

Men take large bites of that sweet fruit with ease,

While women wonder, 

“Will we ever taste it equally?”

We broke from colonial chains, 

so we claim,

Yet ancestral biases still burn like a flame.

Still treated like puppets, 

like clowns on display,

Still ruled by patriarchal norms that won’t fade away.

With aching hearts and scars left deep,

We fight through silence we could not keep.

Our whispers rise, 

now loud and clear,

Turning to headlines the world must hear.

We seek a share of that sweet fruit of freedom,

Uprooting the lies planted deep at the root.

Outdated chains pierce like a dagger inside,

Leaving behind wounds we can no longer hide.

Why are these norms always centered on women?

Old ideas that should have long been rewritten.

The Trokosi system steals freedom from souls,

Witch camps imprison lives in suffering holes.

Nudes are leaked her dignity torn apart,

“She’s a slut,” they whisper, 

judging her heart.

She runs for power they say she’s weak,

“Vote for the man,” is all they speak.

She is raped they ask, “What did you wear?”

Her body’s the crime scene yet they don’t care.

She graduates “Bring home a husband,” they say,

He graduates the world is his to slay.

She turns thirty “expired,” they claim,

He turns thirty “his prime,” his glory, his gain.

She leaves school, forced into marriage too soon,

Her dreams buried beneath a silenced tune.

Freedom is beautiful at least on paper.

But in reality, 

it’s a puzzle missing layers.

Privileges uneven, 

never shared the same.

A melody of freedom but for whom is it made?