In Possibilities
Life is a habit.
I live every day
without consciously thinking about it,
planning it, or taking stock of what has been so far;
I stroke it gently, may be
I let it flow
but not often I feel a part of it.
I am not even there, it seems.
I am just eyes.
I have left living to a mind
that coordinates my activities fairly well.
Sometimes it gets troubled. It doesn’t sleep.
I watch it wrestle with parts of itself
I – the soul.
I may be asleep all day. I would not know.
I do not make decisions.
I watch others – the lives around me passing by.
I do remember faces of some of them.
But I don’t talk much.
I think talks are superfluous and unnecessary.
I see.
I’m afraid they might be seeing too.
So I don’t meet their eyes.
They might read the truth,
they might know my secrets,
they might see me.
See for all my foulness.
my treacheries,
my vileness,
my deceptions,
all that.
But that way I have always been scared
of being revealed then being judged –
on scandalously high standards of
beauty, skills, fairness, morality, intelligence, friendliness.
Humanity.
Normality. Haah.
I don’t know.
Nobody ever told me really what the hell they really wanted,
the ugliness of pompous presumptuousness.
Everybody just knew that there are walls to be climbed –
glorified walls.
Walls, that make me cringe.
walls that are closing in
they make me claustrophobic.
I push them sideways.
I, the soul, with no voice, only eyes.
I see.