Where does a sense of identity spring from?
Is it the way my words match with my thoughts
The way my eyes wander to beauty I love
Is it the way my lips talk to people
Or the way my tongue craves a taste
Is it from the way I differentiate my memory of sounds from yours
Or the way I choose to remember my memories.
Is it from the way my skin looks in sunshine
Or the number of people who look at me with love in their eyes.
Is it from the work, the pointless exhausting work I unpile on myself
Or the lack of praises my efforts get.
Is it from the approval of my existence that my creators give
Or maybe, the way I will be gone, when I will be gone.

I think it comes when I am lying in the darkness
Beneath a whirling fan, a body in darkness
When I am trying to hunt for the light within
The watery sun in my being.
The physicality of my existence
Aligning somewhere with the knowledge in me.
That’s my sense of identity to me.


Copyright ©Devika Todi. All rights reserved.

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