"Who am I?" you ask...
At times the question invades my mind as well,
when curled up to the streets of insomnia,
asfixiated by the pressures of strangers,
engaged in mythological stupidity.
You answer with a name...
But a name is a mere word to respond to
as dogs or cats do.
Your occupation...whether you like it or not,
a profession can be lost with a wink of an eye
and what's left?
Of course, the cultural background...
explanations...excuses for being mediocre or to complain.
Can you prove to me you were built with one?
Could you have lost it as well as you lost conscience of who you are?
Colors can fade, bodies will change...
the beauty of gravity...
who am I you ask
yet the perplexed doubt has already been concluded...
the answer can be found at the wake of the seas,
the chirping of the sand,
the answer lies in the air we inhale
feigning our senses.
The answer is all around us
but can only be fround from within.
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