I know what I am,
what labels others apply to me
I am human
or so they say
But tell me something
what is so humane about our species
something found in no others, something humane
I am a lesbian
Yes, a lover of women
but I now choose very selectively
though weary of trust, I am starved for love
I am a crone
Old, and withered by life
I feel so aged, and weary at times
I am sickened by what I see that others do not
Even though I seldom see what is right in front of me
I am a child
I look about myself in wonder
society constantly baffles my mind
I find happiness in the small things of life
I have experienced so little, but seen so much
I still believe in love, so naive in matters of the heart
I am an author
I write many stories
of loving, living, understanding
though I do not yet understand these things
I am a poet
at least that is what i am told
My pen hardly touches the paper
and I think of what’s important, in my heart
My feelings flow freely in verse and sometimes not
I am a pacifist
I abhor anger, and violence
it destroys love, lives, and souls
I think there is always a peaceful solution
if one is willing to search their heart and soul
Though it may be harder, let go of your pride and try
I am a survivor
Many battles I have faced
Somehow I always come out of them
but never whole, for it is not that simple
Along the way I have had to make sacrifices
but here I stand, in quiet defiance and always will
Though I am tattered, battered, and occasionally shattered
Who am I
I think above all
I am an individual
If it is not all about me…
Who is it about?
You?
Them?
Us?
If you say I am not who or what I should be,
Who are you to tell me that?
And where were you when all I had was myself?
Who am I?
More than I was…
Before I let someone like you
Decide I wasn’t good enough to be me.
And all that I am right now…
Allows me to see others for who they are!
I couldn’t do that before when I listened to you,
Make decisions for me without my involvement!
I am involved now…
Declaring ownership!
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From where and
To where am I going?
Oh I am so and so
I have so many names
So much power
So much wealth.
No one is equal to me
I am supreme.
But how helpless I am
See please.
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i am the migrant worker,
going from field to field,
none of which i own.
i am the addict gone straight,
the saint addicted to sin.
i am the child adopted
by women life partners,
loved and fulfilled,
and taught to respect.
i am protest, i am questioning,
i am doubt, i am reasoning.
i am the teacher, the mill worker,
the doctor, the dairy hand.
i am love and sweat,
the passion that trembles.
i am failure and forgiveness,
i am the crack in your mirror.
i am the end of wars,
the end of oil, and the shift.
i am hatred held close
till it breaks and shatters.
i am the preacher gone silent,
going from door to door.
i am the book well read,
and the end of ignorance.
i am equality,
in action not words.
i am a cold drink of water,
and a warm bowl of soup.
i am the shadows
you dare not name.
i am the name,
you dare not speak.
i am the body
of your desire…
i am the grave,
tended by crows….
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when i growl?
whose face do you see
when i moan?
i am the train
that hasnt come
for twenty years,
the tracks left to whimper
like a deserted bride.
i am the lock rusted,
and the key that is lost.
i am the cross of silver
on the neck of the corpse.
i am the soldier come home
to no home at all.
i am the father burying
his only son.
i am the vote not cast,
the prayer unspoken.
i am the homeless shelter,
and the house in the suburbs.
i am the husband and wife,
splitting after 25 years.
i am the abused child,
the worker without a job.
i am two young men who are
in passionate love,
and the families that
turned their backs.
i am the young boy and girl
making love for the first time,
when nothing else matters.
i am the empty church,
and the library closed down.
i am laws that take away
the individual’s rights.
i am a poet, a hammer, a wheelbarrow,
and a bag of used clothes,
left on the doorstep
of the family in need….
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every page turned betrays the last,
no footprints left on stone!
even crows curse the coming storm,
the pilgrim trudges snowbound fields.
memory dimmed by time and ghosts,
sacrificed to the need for sin!
be that your body?
clothed in naked heat…
or the intimate beckoning of death?
am i then the spring that never came,
that you buried by autumn’s door?
the sticky guilt of love unfulfilled,
splattered on the casket’s walls!
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and tended your crops;
who hoed the weeds
in the hot summer sun.
i am the man who cut your wood,
sawed it into stacks,
preparing for the coming winter.
i am the carpenter
who built your home;
with boards of flesh,
and nails made of blood and tears.
i am the infidel
who brought you a holy candle,
and made love to you
while it burned down.
who am I
i am the minstrel in your courtyard
dodging bullets and angry lynch mobs.
i am the soldier you sent to battle,
not expecting him to come home.
i am the doctor of your heart
mixing balms of listening and caring.
i am the wolf that mounts you,
teeth gleeming in the moonlight.
i am the prayer you cant put to words,
and its answer!
who am I?
i am the reflection of your face
in the darkened window.
i am the bridge you walk across
to reach tomorrow…
i am the price of a lifetime,
the cost of passion.
i am the fire that burns,
the pot that boils,
the cup that’s filled…
i am the colors,
the stink, the raw taste
of living.
i am the hawk that circles
o’er your freedom…
the hand that opens the door!
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Who am i?
I have taken to the culture, language and the education of Ghana to this present day;
And i know more about Ghana than Togo and Egypt.
Who am i?
I am an half-cast to satisfy my status;
And i can easily blend with my colleagues in Togo and Egypt as well,
But who am i?
In Ghana i eat a lot of plantain,
In Egypt i eat a lot of couscous,
And in Togo i eat a lot of beans;
So i am an African on apeaceful course.
My accent is very sound in Arabic, French and English;
But you can call me black or white because i am always the same,
For i have never caught the wind with my hands!
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What is Self?
Is it not a shame
that you know so much
but you don’t know
Who you are?
Observe yourself
Find out who you are?
Who am I?
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What my name,
What my identity?
Where my home,
Can you?
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Where my home,
What my address,
Sometimes here, sometimes there,
But finally where?
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Where my home?
Where was I
When I had not been?
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Why am I here?
What should I do?
Who will tell me who I am?
Who will tell me, who put me here?
Who will tell me, why I’m here,
and tell me then, what I should do? ..
Sometimes, I am all thankfulness
for what keeps all of me alive;
is there a greater one whom I may thank?
And sometimes, I’m alive with praise;
Is there a greater one whom I may praise?
Sometimes, as thunder rolls and lightning strikes,
earth quakes; seas foam,
I am all fear; is there a one
who’ll tell me, the other, or the greater
things that I should fear,
and tell me what I need not fear?
From day to day, my thankfulness
wells up for this; and then for that:
the earth that yields me food,
the rain that helps it grow,
the sun and light that help it ripen,
the air that I must breathe,
the sounds that draw me to my fellow men:
so are there many such, whose mighty powers
I should thank and praise,
or is there only One?
Or are there many in the One
whom I should thank and praise –
and what then do these greater powers
know of each other; know of that One?
Sometimes, when all is silent, still,
I seem to have a hint of whom I am;
of why I’m here; what I should do;
then who will tell me the greater more
of all the more I think I know?
Sometimes, when all is silent, still,
I wish to spend my days deep in that place;
but I must work; then should I trust
some other man or woman, who will spend
their days in thanking, praising, in my place?
or can my work be also thanks and praise?
who judges thanks and praise enough?
Sometimes, when all is silent, still,
I feel a greatness in me, that
joins me to all things in myself..
who shall tell me more of this?
Sometimes, when all is silent, still,
I seek for sounds, and words, and song,
to measure all that this heart feels:
oh, who will teach me greater words?
Is there a teacher, and a taught?
Or is the teacher all around?
Or is the teacher all within?
Oh, who will tell me whom I am,
in words that sing as from myself?
*
[An ongoing attempt to ‘imagine myself’ into the spirit of the Veda]