“I am, I am, I am” , wrote Sylvia.
“I”, fluid de-oxygenated blood in my veins,
when I turn my ears to your song.
Am I my hands, that trace the sequence
Up and down, down, down, up,
As they strum through your hair?
Or am I the warmth in the pit of my soul,
when I don’t have to speak the words
for you to hear them glow in the dark?
Am I the contours of my mind as they morph,
Shrinking and growing with your questions
and my quest for answers that match yours?
I am, yes. But who?
Batman joined hands with Superman,
I’m Batman, I’m Superman, I’m also
A human battling the side effects
of one of our primal instincts.
A rush of emotions, and the primal
takes control, and the mind is, but
a computer controlled by them. The
Process of yielding reasons of regrets.
A gush of pleasure vs an eternal bliss,
I find myself giving in to the former,
but I’m highly aware of the latter, and
that sources the root of all evils.
I close my eyes less often, if I’d more
often, I’d be less often exposed to
the cardinal vanities of the side effects,
of one of the primal instincts, laid.
I’m not the chemical desires of my body,
not the monkey who dances on the tunes
of emotions, not an addict to pleasure,
I’m, just that, I’m, the cosmic comic sea.