Freedom, you are 
a wife’s thick cluster of loose black hair, 
stirred by the wind to wild excitement. 
Freedom, you are 
the colored jacket on a little boy’s body, 
the play of sunlight on the soft cheeks 
of a little girl. 
Freedom, you are 
a room in an arbor, a cuckoo’s song, 
the sparkling leaves of an aged banyan tree 
and my notebook of poems written just as I wish. 
   
     Poet Shamsur Rahman