Who am I? Am I the one who was born a Ruth?
An innocent soul, unaware of the world?
Am I the one who held His finger? Who once didn’t care to ask for help?
The same one who ran his legs out,
To catch the fly, who flew ahead?
Am I the one who fell for her, or the one for whom she fell?
Am I the one who lost all hope, a bright soul, ruined to hell?
Am I the one, him who the angel addressed?
The one who denied her a return?
Only to realize, when she moved away,
I wanted her to turn?
Am I the one whom she bewitched?
Melted again, what was hardened by pain?
Am I the one who felt Infinity was a myth? That it was small, not enough?
Was it me consumed in the trance?
Was it me who broke her heart and mine too?
Was it Him who taught me? The woven finger edified the truth that life becomes?
Is it me who is bringing the shattered pieces together?
Brick by brick, one at a time?
Forming a shadow, so clear, almost cruel?
Is my heart just a mirror, a glass?
Or am I the reflection that’s moving towards the oblivion so fierce, so harsh?
Who are you? Are you the same person as you were yesterday? Are you dumb the same? Are you smart the same? Are you ecstatic the same? Melancholic the same? Would you make the same mistakes you made yesterday? Would every little thing matter the same? Would you be the same tomorrow?
Often in life we come across situations which change us in a way so fierce that we hardly recognize ourselves anymore.
All of us have witnessed instances when we behave differently, sway differently, care like never before, love like never before and although it’s all you, yet you have no authority, no command over yourself. One fine day, every thing that drew you so aggressively stops to do so. Every thing comes to a halt, and before you realize, it’s all gone. They found a way to live on, feed on the next good thing and there you stand alone, wondering what to do now? You already moulded yourself in a way that was acceptable to, compatible with someone else. But that someone is no longer there. And there you are, looking for yourself, trying to find the specks of you left, baffled at the look of your own face, and soul.
The heart then is no more different than a broken mirror, shattered into pieces and you’re trying to bring it back together again, whole again. One by one, you pick up the crushed fragments, some causing cuts, inflicting pain, hurting you. As you get closer to the finish, day after day, attempt after attempt, you realize that you don’t recognize your own reflection in it. Who are you? Are you something else now? Or are you, you? Oblivion?