I That You Are

EGO QUEM ES! (I THAT YOU ARE)
By Urbain Gilles

 

Clouds, dark and grey, black or white,

Whichever colours they taint the blue sky with,

I see shapes they mold in the endless vast high,

But I miss the sun, the golden bulb to sparkle on darkness,

This vast wild land of my fierce puzzled nature.

 

Slave to a crime I made to no one,

I was convicted with no blame to hold,

That I was a murderer of no man but myself,

That I was a mystery they understood not,

A tale that Shakespeare pronounced not.

 

Seduced by mystery, I rest confused,

Of my own nature I crave to define,

years have aged and countless passed,

Yet I doubt if I’ve lived or not,

Or whether existence isn’t known to man.

 

Breathing; it seems so I guess,

This air, I judge is mine by right,

Or is it out of mercy I’m granted nights,

Or evenings of thunders and rainstorms,

That turn into days of sunshine and lights.

 

See born embracing fragility,

Forehead reflecting innocence,

I know not how I set to this drama,

Where life is a series of illusion,

Tempting I to disguised truths.

 

What am I?

I am a diction that missed spelling.

 

I might be a diction or a word,

Or a word with a known not diction,

Ask God THE sculpturing Master,

He’d say He named me greatness,

So I might be a language lost as latin.

 

What am I?

 

I am forgotten history to be taught,

A lost soul in the midst to be found,

May I say a headless journal to be read,

And a new book unread to be named.

 

Quel nom me vêtir?

 

Je me nomme inconnue sans titre ni mérite,

Plutôt bouleversé me semble honnête,

Quel nom me vetir?

Car nul ne semble décrire bien cette être,

Nul ne semble définir mon sort par lettres,

La seul richesse de ma pauvreté.

 

Quel nom vêtir ce chair qui me suis chère?

 

Une parfaite harmonie de mes qualités,

Un cadance sans égale de mes défauts,

Un nom qui me rappelle d’où je viens,

Un nom qui me dit et m’instruit où je vais,

Un prénom qui crie fort et sans moindre bruit.

 

Qui suis-je d’après toi?

 

Une ombre qui passe sans traces ni face?

Suis-je l’objet d’une valeur passable?

Médiocre même dans ton cœur sans sons.

Dit-moi qui je suis d’après tes yeux dites guéris,

Si par contre elles sont pas trahis dans ce monde maudit.

 

See at least now I know what i’m not,

I’m not this black and white profile in my phone,

I am not this script of illusions I hold in my hands,

Not those fables they fantasize about in their heads,

I AM A FRUIT OF MY OWN CONSCIENCE!

 

I woke to this cruising haunting nightmare,

It left stains in the hallways of my brain,

Aren’t dreams supposed not to make sense?

But it left stains on the doorway of my brain,

Questing who and what I am is my rhyme.

 

I that you are, captain of your fate,

You are no concept for them to comprehend,

I that you are, captain of your soul,

You are no subject for them to theorise,

Your nature is yours for non to criticize.

YOU ARE A FRUIT OF YOUR OWN CONSCIENCE!!

 

 

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Urbain Gilles
Urbain Gilles

I am all about poetry