It is a person you cannot defy
A word whose meaning you cannot find
A period that longs for completion
Walking fast, yet inching away from absolution.

Who am I? And what am I to be?

Am ‘I’ just a syllable, a vowel or a word?
Or am I a caged, featherless bird?
Yes, I long to fly and be free from the shackles of time
But I have no flight for I have no wings,
I have no wind to carry me with,
I have no sunshine to guide my path,
And I have no darkness to face its wrath.

Perhaps I am nothing but a hallucination
A dream or a deranged delusion
I may as well be a figment of your imagination
A trick or an illusion of your creation.
But I still have a heart that feels,
Skin that senses and eyes that see.
No, I don’t fail to miss a single note
With a ruthless mind I cannot control.

Yet there are words I never wrote
Or thoughts I never spoke.
Yes, there have been incidents I cannot get past
With repercussions that are meant to last.
But I am an identity that cannot erase
I can think and I can only create.

Am I then a soundless note?
Or just a voiceless poet?
Is it only ego that ‘I’ represent?
Or is it all that I have dreamt?
Yes, there are answers that I still seek
Are these the words I could ever read?
Or perhaps they are just mere ways to distract
Your life from your purpose and the truth from your act,
A veil of deceit, a thin line of your tact.

Who am I then to you, I ask?
Am I an entity that is to go unnoticed?
Or a face you most despise?
Maybe I am just a naive poet
Whose work in these words forever remains confined.

Am I then to just simply exist?
Perhaps as a trivial part of an eminence undefined?
And never find why the seed was planted,
Why air turned into breath,
Why water turned into blood,
Why nothing turned into everything,
And why life turned into ‘I’?


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