Who Am I?
On one hand, we have
the pleaser mugging for the crowd,
whose hollow life is emptied out
by the absence of your laughter loud.
On the other hand, we have
the nihilistic Shiva god,
destroyer of securities,
whose nuclear laugh engulfs the awed.
And we can’t forget the mother,
who rises like the beating sun
to rejoin the murmuring forlorn.
Lastly, of course, the lover,
forever loving incomplete,
bowing low to kiss the feet,
and breathing space for sound’s retreat.
Four voices with four voices each —
sixteen lonely calls.
Who speaks the words that we did speak?
What room will fit both great and small?
Tell me how far I’ve strayed from You,
And which moment gives back all: