There is a way sunlight plays with your skin,
Hugging it like a long lost child
Stirring its strings to a soundless tune
And making it unseen to sheer eyes.
So, you know you are not like them
Not different – difference is the relationship between similars –
And not like them.
The holes are round or square,
You are round and square,
Not fitting into any.
You, a bat, not bird, not rat
And you fight for a shape according to you
Fight by searching,
Tearing into the scaffolding of your soul
To find the original design of yourself
You pick the safe, throw the shelf
Met at every turn by the cobwebs of old trust
Trust that bore your name,
And like yourself, forgotten by chance.
Every soul has its nutrition,
That inverterate-ness it delights in
You have sat with your hungry soul
And tried to feed it with every pedestrian dreg
Your heart stumbles upon.
But the mule will not eat,
Dying off daily – drying!
What pleases you?
What are you?
Who are you?
You’d have shattered it, its fragile glass-ness, if you could
Wrung its neck quietly with the stirrings of misspent youth
If not that you have fallen in love with it, with yourself
And you do not know what yourself is, yet.
Let the fluttering of your heart be,
Listen to it.
It is the compass of you –
Each beat, a pole connected
It could guide you to your true North.
If you wrote down the note of its every tremor
You will discover a sign – a Morse code in your own dialect
Mayday. Stop. Mayday. Stop. Your soul is at risk. Stop.
You are not like them. Stop. Your potents are not one of same. Stop
There is a place for you. Stop. Within You. Stop
And that is why you will keep searching,
Excavating the foundations of your being,
Till you find the buried treasure, called You,
and know yourself, for the very first time.