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What am I?

What am I?
Am I substance?
Am I soul?
Am I a form of energy?
Or just a piece of matter?
Where was I before this?
Where would I be after this?
Why am I?
How do I exist?
Am I a plan?
Or just a coincidence?
Am I the protagonist?
Or just the side plot?
Where am I meant to be?
What am I meant to be?
What really am I?
Perhaps at the end of the day
It doesn’t really matter…
The past is gone,
The future’s a surprise;
Maybe I’ll have the answers one day…
And even if not,
It doesn’t make sense to ponder over senseless things.
But then again,
What’s making me think all this?
What’s making me reach conclusions?
Should I really do it?
Who’s going to decide this?
Maybe he who created me…
Who created me?
What did he mean to create?
A piece of matter?
Or a form of energy?
A soul?
Or mere substance?
What am I?
Oh wait…
Did I do it again?

I am Snehal Suhane, a teenager from India. I write stories and poems and occasional wanderings into other worldly stuff. My poems are inspired by my feelings and real life events. My stories are mostly fiction, or sometimes inspired by reality. I love to write sci-fi. Link to my blog: https://oddballthinks.wordpress.com/

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If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

3 replies on “What am I?”

It’s like you took a bottle of ink and you threw it at a wall. Smash! And all that ink spread. And in the middle, it’s dense, isn’t it? And as it gets out on the edge, the little droplets get finer and finer and make more complicated patterns, see? So in the same way, there was a big bang at the beginning of things and it spread. And you and I, sitting here in this room, as complicated human beings, are way, way out on the fringe of that bang. We are the complicated little patterns on the end of it. Very interesting. But so we define ourselves as being only that. If you think that you are only inside your skin, you define yourself as one very complicated little curlique, way out on the edge of that explosion. Way out in space, and way out in time. Billions of years ago, you were a big bang, but now you’re a complicated human being. And then we cut ourselves off, and don’t feel that we’re still the big bang. But you are. Depends how you define yourself. You are actually–if this is the way things started, if there was a big bang in the beginning– you’re not something that’s a result of the big bang. You’re not something that is a sort of puppet on the end of the process. You are still the process. You are the big bang, the original force of the universe, coming on as whoever you are. When I meet you, I see not just what you define yourself as–Mr so-and- so, Ms so-and-so, Mrs so-and-so–I see every one of you as the primordial energy of the universe coming on at me in this particular way. I know I’m that, too. But we’ve learned to define ourselves as separate from it. And people get all fouled up because they want the world to have meaning as if it were words… As if you had a meaning, as if you were a mere word, as if you were something that could be looked up in a dictionary. You are meaning.

For man seems to be unable to live without myth, without the belief that the routine and drudgery, the pain and fear of this life have some meaning and goal in the future. At once new myths come into being – political and economic myths with extravagant promises of the best of futures in the present world. These myths give the individual a certain sense of meaning by making him part of a vast social effort, in which he loses something of his own emptiness and loneliness. Yet the very violence of these political religions betrays the anxiety beneath them – for they are but men huddling together and shouting to give themselves courage in the dark.

Alan Watts

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