Who are we?
Some say our character
Some say our friends
Some say the music in our playlists
But
Isn't this the truth, that
Those things are there in me;
Rather than
I am in them.
Then how am I all those things?
I am not the society's puppet;
Who has its thick invisible strains
Latched onto my thin numb wrists.
Neither am I an Android
That they specially designed
Then if you ask me
Who am I?
I'll have a very complex answer.
Because I too do t know me.
As far as I know.
I'm a person, a soul.
And my identity
It's not a dented entity.
YOU ARE READING
string of words
PoesíaPoems come to me like Words falling from the sky creating an ache in my chest Forcing my hand to write it.
