Freedom by Prof. Rama Shankar Shukla

Dear Audience, This is my first poem. It has come from my deep feelings, my heart and my soul after my observation several things. I want to a lot but I feel that it will mar the joy of reading the poem. Remember that setting is rural India. Read and enjoy.

Freedom 

                        By Prof. Rama Shankar Shukla

Freedom is my birthright.

And nothing in this world is dearer to me.

It is not the water that makes my body.

Nor is the smoke, the shaper of my body.

It is the free molecules that frame my body.

And make me free to the very core of existence, 

These free elements fuel the passion for travel.

The spirit of travelling makes me a wanderer.

I ride on the horses of speeding winds.

Over the oceans and lands unknown.

Over the mountains and woods unknown.

Over the hills and agricultural lands.

Over the islands smoking with volcanoes.

Freedom and I were born together.

You can call him my twin brother,

But he is very shy.

Always hiding himself behind me, 

And people do not know it is me or him.

I am always taken for him.

I love him more than anything in the world.

He has penetrated into my body,

Into the free elements of water and vapour.

The particles of vapor and smoke make me an ethereal being. 

And I am free to the very core of my existence, 

These free elements lend me a passion for travel.

The spirit of travelling makes me a wanderer.

I am the Prince bestowed with a vast empire over the earth.

Ocean is my mother; she bore me in the south.

Southern winds nursed me in the ocean Indiana.

Sun is my God, my father and protector. 

He keeps a watch on wherever I go.

He keeps an eye on whatever I do.

Due drops bathe me early at dawn.

I pray to my God in the morning skies.

Golden blessings, Sun showers on me.

By his blessings I grow taller and taller

Like a giant wearing golden attire.

I bow, I bow, I pray , I pray.

Birds keep flying while I keep praying.

I feel their presence.

But they are my friends.

My soul is amused at watching their play.

They set in my body and come out again.

I guide them while flying through the lands unknown.

I help them come back home again.

Easy winds float me and sail me around

Over the places which need my rains.

Over the places flooded with the rains.

Over the places covered with wood

Over the mountainous and riverine greens.

I eat the dews on icy mountains,

Embracing the hills and icy peaks.

The heat of the Sun reduces my shape.

No trace of mine to be found sometimes.

Or merely a fleck of white against the blue.

A shape or no shape is hardly a question.

A shape may I have but I am not shapely

Any shape is good for me.

Vapor makes me ethereal and smoke is what makes me visible. 

I love my freedom

I am freer than freedom.

Even freedom, my brother, doesn’t know how free I am.

Westerly winds set me on voyages unknown

High winds are my horses speeding across the globe.

My stomach is packed with passion for travel

I am free to decide travel I must or travel I not or

Stay at one place? Let me see if it is worth it.

Sometimes I enjoy my fluffy cushion of air.

Cool breezes sometimes lull me to fall asleep.

I sleep, I sleep, I sleep, I sleep.

I sleep, I sleep, I sleep, I sleep.

Who can dare to wake me up? 

Except my elder brother, the dear Storm

Who wakes me by his thunder and lightning.

Says he “not stay at a place for long,”

Because I am needed everywhere.

He is right. I know

But I ignore his preaching.

It is all against my freedom.

He kills people by sudden attacks,

And preaches me welfare.

I let my body lay on the winds and wander with the winds.

Anywhere they go,

Everywhere I go.

Birds are returning in V formation.

They give me a call over the horizon.

I rush to the horizon and climb on it.

Say good night to Sun, my father and protector.

He gives me a crown of golden blessings.

I grow taller and taller, bigger and bigger,

Heavier and heavier and prouder and prouder,

With silver and golden stripes on my body.

I light the world for a little more time.

Soon, the darkness sets over the world.

The mild breeze floats me over and over,

Sings a lullaby on her airy bed.

I remain sleeping and unmoving at a place,

Until dawn when I pray to my father.

I am pleased to watch the ploughman, my brother.

In the dim light of the dawn,

He hurries to the fields with his oxen and a plough.

Swinging bells necked to the oxen wake up the sleeping trees

A call of duty to the workers of the world.

His oxen stop under a pipal tree

He yokes them and they move into the field.

The plough penetrates into the muddy plane

Making it muddier and darker

He sings a rural lay with a tune well known

One stretch of the land to be covered before sunrise.

The Sun, my god will watch his labour,

His rays examine his field intensely

His rays grow intense and cool breeze dies

Sweat drops fall behind his plough

The Sun, my god is aloof to his sweat,

Grow more intense and more intense.

I give him a cover from the heat of the Sun.

He stops the oxen at the call of his master.

He smiles with assurance and gives a reason.

Under the pipal tree, they have a conversation.

He shares the betel prepared by his master.

More instructions with betel nut and clove.

His master departs but his oxen are waiting.

He taps them with love and affection of talk

He resumes his ploughing in the heat of the Sun

One stretch is done and others remain

The Sun stands tall over his field

Swinging bells ring and he tills and tills

While his wife appears at a bend

A basket on her head with his food and her son

She bends her way with a veil on her face.

Under the pipal tree, she downs the basket.

The young tiller in rags with food in the basket.

He completes his circle to stop near the pipal.

He taps the back of his oxen and unyokes them for grazing.

They move to canalette for drinking fresh water,

And graze the grass on the sideways of the canalette..

He wades into the fresh water of the canalette

To wash his feet, hands and face.

He sits under the pipal with a smile on his face.

His wife has redied his lunch in a platter,

Full of chapatis with onion chutney and bhajee,

And rice with whey and some gud.

The young tiller cries.

His father kisses his warm cheeks.

“My lion is crying! My lion is crying!”

Mother feeds him on her lap.

Father enjoys his lunch with sweet conversation.

Bullocks move farther while grazing the grass.

He yokes them back to resume his ploughing.

Mother has brought some paddy plants

To plant the saplings in the adjacent field.

She has to finish the whole stretch today.

He ploughs and ploughs in the heat of the sun.

His sweat mixes with muddy water down.

I let my brother regain his strength

By shading him from the sun.

Lo! The young tiller is awake and crying.

Is she not listening or are both aloof?

The breeze is dead and the sun is hot.

Nobody cares for the child.

What a mother she is!

I come down and start a heavy shower. 

They leave the work and run to the pipal.

The young tiller gets his mother.

This gives me a lot of joy and satisfaction.

I don’t like to leave this place.

But I don’t like cities, the jungles of cement.

I pass over them.

Only sometimes when I am tired,

I settle over them.

I know people like me all around the world.

When mountains have taken most of my water,

I cannot rain over the fields.

I know the tillers are waiting.

I dare not come down.

It’s very painful.

I want to help but I can’t.

With great hopes, farmers look at the sky.

I too need water to feed their fields.

But I must wait for thunder and lightning,

My brother and sister.

They signal me to begin my work of raining.

They say God Indra commands us to rain.

There are some places where it rains and rains.

It rains on seas; it rains on lands.

Trees on swamps and trees on trees,

Lives in swamps and lives on trees.

Lives from lives and lives on lives.

It rains and rains and rains and rains.

Still I rain and rain and rain.

Aren’t there the places with no rain, no rain? 

Even then I am told no rain no rain, no rain no rain.

Sandy furnaces run over to horizon

Sun flares sink into low wind air

How wait for water met death in the bones

Camels of caravan meet the camel of bones

Hot hills and plains and sandy zones.

Where search for water makes it thirstier and deadlier

It is only your good luck that you reach an oasis.

The places are beautiful in the morning and evening.

Nights are beautiful with the moon in the welkin.

I sleep over such places till the moon in the welkin.

But I am forbidden to rain in such places. 

There are thousands of such places.

Some are hot, some cold and some dry wet places.

My father says “Don’t rain on these cursed places.

These people made false claims about God. 

They made false commands in the name of God.

When Godmen and people will die over here. 

They will be burnt and burnt over the fire. 

They will always remain in hell in the fire.” 

I am intimidated by this punishment of God.

My father guesses my fear of God.

“You are innocent and God loves you.

You just obey me and you obey God.

You rain over the places I have told you.

The people here love the whole creation 

They love everyone and help everyone.

By their love they have discovered their God.”

“I have never seen God so how will I know Him?”

“ No one has ever seen or known God.

You needn't see God because it is not possible

If you believe in humanity, 

And behave with others as a good human being,

And if you love his creation and are kind to all. 

You are the real Godman for all.”

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Published on 20 September 2025 

Rama Shankar Shukla

© 2025 Ramashanker Shukla. All rights reserved.

Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this poem in any form is prohibited.