war between Self and Soul
results in
no work done, for
no displacement occurs
repeat physics; yet efforts wasted
in winding the clock
and a whale of time
elapsed in indecision.
Self is the shit
others make you believe.
what you are: you cannot know
unless you listen to your Soul.
still many
echoes the dead
blindly unto death
climbs the winding staircase:
your goal obscure.
Soul is that eternal flame
set ablaze by dreams
that cannot speak-
burning deep in distress: everytime
gravity pulls me down into Hell,
with His help
and belief in Self
i rise up like Phoenix from the ashes
again and again…
(First composed: July,2017)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem