POEM TITLED: WHO ARE YOU?

 Perhaps, we are not afraid to die

But of our kin vanishing when we stagger with cravings

Of our voices echoing in empty homes

Empty homes that once roared with thrill and glee

For if we sit and think of the life a single breath holds,

How shortly a name sticks in our mouths,

And how very shortly it vanishes

We will be still

With purpose in our eyes, we roam the earth

The lies we live guard against reality and true persona

The alarm goes off,

We jump into the streets to a place we many a time hate

To an environment that gives our souls treachery colours

Time is a monster

When it takes, it takes everything

Do you know why we write our names on things?

Perchance if your answer is same as mine,

We should write our names on our bodies too.

Then again, we do not.

Because we own ourselves? No

That golden recollection of who we are is what we own

Especially in a world that forgets

The silence can stroll in anytime

The lips that once said our names will shut their doors

You see, warnings always sound desperate

And desperate is a lingering generation of our folks hunting for their original beings

In that fleeting moment of discovery,

It would be as though you have beaten death

That in the moment of that choice, you have taken your first breath

©2021