My Fear

Being without you is not my fear.
Nor is it from the grief of being alone in a prison’s embrace.
How long must I look at the calendar of life
Through the burning red of my eyes?
Where shall I sit in tis prison you made for me
Out of hard metal?
What price should be returned to me for the price of myself;
For the loss of my youth? For my banished life?
Oh Freedom! How I longed to sit in the corner of your heart!
How I laugh at you whilst you cry at my condition.
I am entirely spent yet have so much more to say.
Oh my god! How could life have become so sorrowful
That I almost drowned in the pool at the bottom of my endless tears?
Yet to sit now, in mourning, in my cage, is sweet
Yearning for that precious lost time.

My fear is not coming from my loss of you now
Nor from the grief of being all alone
Within the possibility of being destroyed.
Because breathing simply the scent of the freedom to weep is good.
It’s tick-rock is pleasing; gives colour to my life
Separating me from your yearning,
Suspended in the sky.
It is is restful on this full-bodied Freedom Mountain!

– Farhad Bandesh,
Manus Island, 27 months