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Oct 2013
Eye, I and I

                   The first telling me
                       Never to think
                            *But to be


                                                            ­                                          And the latter
                                                                ­                                      Screaming, taunting
                                                        ­                                             Appropriation!
                                              ­                                                        Opprobrio­us little thing!

                                     The middle cowering
                                                      ­     Shaking as she
                                      Soars through
                                                         ­  Calmest winds
                                      And brushing
                                                        ­Turbulent ocean

     She hurts and
      Radiates the suns spit
                                                     Permeable gooseflesh
                                                     Absorbing any confusion
                                                       ­                         
                                                                                              Processing and mulling it over
                                                            ­                                                                              
                                                                                                                                      With plastic hands
                                                           ­           Caressing her feathers
                                                        ­                      Pulling her into
                                                            ­             The stormy cold of Id

              While she meditates on
              The notion that she is

            To be absent of thought
                                            
           Translucent and hollow

                                    A reflection of skies and seas

Beating her wings
     Desperately to catch the

            Sinking sun or
            Hook the rising moon
                                                            ­                                                                 ­             
                                                   ­                                 Alas she is lost
                                     Manufactured materials
                                                       ­       Clogging her pores
                                                                ­                     Infecting her eyes
                                                            ­                                                Trying to trick her
                                                                ­                                                                 ­              Into being but one


                                                           ­                  But three she will be,
                                                           ­                        Three I's with
                                                            ­                         Three Eyes

To see the maidens yesterday                            The mothers today                            The crones tomorrow
                                                        
       ­                                                                 ­               Wholly

                                                     ­                                   Never to
                                                                ­               Cease or halt or falter

                                                         ­                     Or question the reality
                                                                ­                     Of the intrinsic

                                         And never
                                                      To trust, to touch
                                                                           The grand illusion
                                                                                                    Of material worth
Samantha
Written by
Samantha
  645
   Smiti Singrodia and Basko
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