How fragile am I, the physical me.
Like the wilting rose or the soul unfree.
This nimble body of limbs, eyes and nose,
None of which, I ever chose,
Is temporary - like you and everything else.
And as this sadistic life unrelenting welts,
Like a wrecked ship I sway,
oblivion's way.
How indrawn am I, the emotional me.
Like the lone eagle or the ever-rumbling sea.
This chemical facade of neurotransmitter and hormones,
None of which, in the school lab, were ever shown,
Is ephemeral - like your smile and happiness.
And while my fervid heart forever strays,
I, like the poets, reside
by solitude's side.
How beautiful am I, the ME me.
Like the glorious Truth in all that be.
This conscious entity of ciphers, memories and words,
Everything ever seen, felt, tasted or heard,
Is timeless - like my love and all beauty.
And giving the lie to the illusion of liberty,
Unlike other lovers, I do believe,
in eternal grief.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem