Sometimes it occurs that we are not conscious of our identity and try to wander who we really are. This literary piece decipher the myth surrounding our identity.
As the sun glides to rest
The moon kisses the ocean
Waves of disdainful ocean current blow from the west
Gushing water from the spring sprang up my emotions
Could this be real?
What if I'm in a world where I don't exist?
As the morning wind blow softly,
The oregold-yellow sun stretches its hands gently,
To the trees, as their stems shoot uprightly.
Stimulating my ears are the tunes of their hymns,
The hymns from the brook of the forest and the leaves.
Could I be a shutterbug, trying to capture the nature?
What if I'm in a world, dwelling in the forest as a bird?
As the waves were cresting in the storm
The sunchoke surge the plains of the hill
To the rosebushes, protecting them from the freeze,
Waxing and buffing the savanna with skill.
The sweetish smell distorts my olfactory lobe, sending a salivating shockwaves down my limbs.
Could I be a butterfly, trying to steal a lick?
What if I'm a specie with fluttering flight?
As I walked through the north,
Far down in the ever confusing world,
A mountain's spring emanating from the unconfined aquifers,
Surrounded by the luminous wasps in the body of the waters,
All echoed, echoed and kept echoing my name ,
My spirit evoked, as the sounds enfold my physical frame,
The whole of it into the oceanic realm
Could I possibly be a mermaid?
Attracted to the waters due to my frond of lush foliage?
What if in this world that I am, I'm a Naiad?
Oh! where art thou, thy consciousness?
A slumber have I been or in a deep rest?
I'd been through different realms in a state of forgetfulness.
My blood is still circulating, all I'd thought is nothingness
O! Nirvanic soul in fervor
Look beyond the premonition
For what your thought offered you are tremor
Cast your mind away from the superstition
How could you tell if it were real?
What if everything is like a phoenix from the flame?
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