Freedom in Collectivist Cultur

Does freedom exist in this cage? Are we fooling ourselves to save face? Trapped by their script, we play along, Hiding our hearts to keep shame gone. This freedom cheers who hug the script, Who bow to the clan and never slip. Question their old, sacred scroll? You’re shamed, cursed, or cast to the cold. New thoughts spark fear in their eyes, The script’s the god they all idolize. Stray one step, their tongues turn cruel, “People will talk!”—their favorite rule. This freedom lifts the group on high, Your dreams are crushed, left to die. Family’s gaze, a tightening net, Traps your soul, no chance to forget. They swear you’re free, their smiles a lie, But you must pick their script or comply. Choose love or work that breaks their mold? Guilt’s heavy chains force you to fold. Defy their script, let your fire roar, They’ll shun you fast, slam every door. Your heart writes a script that’s yours alone, But their love binds you, cold as stone.