Malaya's Art Space

My name is Malaya.

Malaya means freedom.

Malaya is me.

And I am Malaya.

 

Freedom.
It rings a hollow sound;

In the minds of many.

Poor, white, rich, old.

Black, sour, pride, untold.

 

They cannot look into the eyes of freedom;

It cannot sing.

It cannot dream.

It cannot wither down cracks,

And gleam.

No. It cannot.

 

For freedom,

A sweet ecstasy that taints the lips,

The freedom that dribbles blood on fingertips.

The unfound freedom that shakes the Earth.

It cannot be found.

 

For true freedom.

The freedom that rings bells.

That saves fervent lives.

The freedom that quells distance hearts.

That freedom quells a wandering mind.

 

Freedom comes from you,

Your bombed heart and bleeded tooth,

Freedom comes from you.

Your grandmother, your friend, and your uncle too.

Freedom comes from you.

 

So remember:

When diced minds mingle with your all-consuming doubt,

Or, when trials, troubles, terror come about,

Or by chance, if the world gravels, spins, and shouts,

Remember.

 

You are freedom.

Freedom is you.

 

My name is Malaya.

Malaya means freedom.

Malaya is freedom.

I am free.