By: Zihan (Angela) Tian
Do I exist or do I not?
am I a man of substance with flesh and bone?
Or am I simply a phantom roam under light?
Following the pace of sleepwalkers,
like my fellow dreamers illuminated by fantasy,
similar to drunken men wavering about on weakness legs,
or lay in suspended animation.
Awakened at the point of death.
Freed for wakeful living.
Opened my eyes.
light stabbed through darkness…
It is always there…
Seeing the darkness of lightness?
Moaning on the asphalt
seeing the light,
suffering from the heat,
realizing the darkness,
I laugh while I moan.
I recognized my state of existence,
Nothing must get in the way of need for light.
I traveled softy
not waking those asleep.
Waking sleep walkers is danger.
They, lost in a dream world,
carry out fight without realization.
They stood in the mist of imperceptible flowing time,
while I shifted with its nodes.
Am? I was,
perhaps shall be again,
float with the current,
for its irresistibility.
I leaped to agree with thou.
I could have ring the bell,
How could a nonsexist phantom be stigmatized.
Responsibility rests upon recognition,
and, yes, how many of us refuse to recognize ourselves?
Why? to fit in.
Why? to be safe.
And yet? Why?
I, snarling in incompatible notions,
was, indeed, a coward.
thou can’t prove me right nor wrong.
An assumption is made.
I, like other, was visible.