Pilgrimage

Am I a pilgrim or a wayfarer
in this sanctum or a sanatorium?
Dear mom I was a prisoner for nine months
in your safe waterlogged womb.
But still I cannot swim in the deep seas.
The thorny crown and the cross too heavy for me.
I am only a puppet in the marionette
and somebody draws me here and there.
I am almost tired,
please let it be a freehand
and a freestyle race
without any restrictions.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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