What am i?
a change in the direction of the wind?
a ripple on a calm pond?
a flower shooting up from the ground?
what am i?
to the creators of humanity?
to the building blocks of the universe?
to the essence of the world?
what am i?
am i nothing?
can they hear my shouts?
do they see my sufferings?
what am i?
am i trapped between reality and imagination?
my hands, my feet, do i exist?
or am i just a ghost, lost in darkness?
what am i?
what is i?
is it a name?
is it my name?
what am i?
am i a tortoise without a shell?
an eagle without its wings?
a fish without its tail?
what am i?
how may i feel if my feelings are already felt?
how may i speak when what i say is already spoken?
how may i breath when my breaths have already been taken?
what am i?
a specter?
a fantasm?
an absence of being?
what am i?
am i the what?
it seems the question is all that is of me.
what am i-but the what-i know not.
the what am i.
this is enough to know.
i may not speak.
i may not feel.
i may not be.
yet,
i am the what.