Identity


I represent all that is around me.
I reflect my nationality, age, gender,
Religion, region, political party,
Class, level of studies, friends,
Clubs, organizations, affiliations,
Creed, color, race, species,
continent, hemisphere, planet,
A billion years of refinement,
And, most of all, God.
Yet do I symbolize an average peon
Being the Atlas burden-carrying missionary?
Does my number really constitute
A percentage of what I am a fraction of?
"We are all individuals"
But how many of you truly think
Differently from the rest of the pack?
I regretfully admit to the fact that I belong
Not to these mere stereotypes or classifications
Nor to the standard which comes with them,
But rather to myself.
How can I reflect my nationality when
Uniformity, Purity, Symmetry,
and the dreaded communism remain null?
Likewise, how can I identify
With the people who say are MY flavor?
Their kind is not kind in a kind of way
That substantiates nothing and eliminates brotherhood.
How can we have leaders who do not
Respect the led?
The red, bloody red, on their hands
Show them being trapped, or rather "caught"
There are some like me
But too few and far between.
I may be an ant in the colony
However, I am molded Eagle
I am bald, shed of falsehoods and ignorance
Perched high atop a mountain top
Soaring to great heights
Desolate, Lonely, Misunderstood Soul
Who can be seen from down below as a speck, a pixel
As enormous as a galaxy within
My wings injured, mangled and plucked, from stones
Stones thrown by the ants, Stones of ignorance.
Yet I limp on, wounded
My heart reaching out to
My class, My affiliation, My God
And I come to find out that
I am not part of God, but instead
God is part of me.


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