Identity Self Poems

Ode for a Fortunate Infant

Newborn: 
  Smacked and 
    Screaming —
 Hardly more than a new fact,
    A...

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Zenith swirls of black rose petals,
burst into a flock of circling crows,
descending ash and rain on my frozen form.

Viscera and scarlet pools flash,
feet running of...

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The world tilts into a crescendo,
manifesting a lure of viral plague,
pervasive and fangs virulent,
sickening coquettish carnivorous creatures.

Why bother with their musings,
why care?

A question that reminds...

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I wonder how aware they are,
what shadowy sense of self
occupies their brain. Perhaps 
no more than a flicker 
of consciousness glows 
in the far reaches...

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Hey, Self

Hey self, 
I called your number
I was hoping you’d pick up
But I had no luck
You sent me right to voicemail
It's been awhile 
I wanted...

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At the end of the day,
I pour my soul into these words, they say,
These scars, they tell stories of my past,
But they don't define me,...

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Why do I paint myself the villain?
Why do I see everyone else as a saint?
What makes them so great?

I know I make mistakes,
But don't they?
Why...

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My name is “Girl”
A girl with wings
I had a pearl
A pearl filled with inks

I had a dream 
A dream to fly
I heard a scream
A scream,...

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head having melded with heart
ego identity vaporised
all souls one, none from us apart
light of our true Self is realised...

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Parked in the dark, waiting for somebody to shine the way...

That somebody, is someone, who has found Sahmbadi and that Somebody is Me! 

-Your Shadow...

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What with vainglory vanity and pride, 
I once asked my ego what makes it go: 
It’s not me who’s on a vainglorious ride, 
Nor arrogance...

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In a maze of shadows and light, To which image should we cling? Is it the mirage of perfection we chase, Or the raw beauty...

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The universe swallowed my thoughts
In another instant of uncertainty
Truthfulness and doubt together were something
Morphed into a new creation of nothing 
As if my time itself...

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The mirror reflects a lifetime etched upon my skin; a canvas of stories whispered through maturity. I stand before it, middle-aged and exposed, my nakedness...

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Only an Alchemist can master the mist at the flick of a wrist,  but here's the twist...

  A White Witch can switch into...

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