Me And Myself

I fell into a slumber, the likes of it I never knew,
But was somehow sure I was more awake than I knew,
I was hearing myself definitely snoring aloud,
Yet I was alone in the house, with nobody around.

I was trying to get up, but was stuck in the sleep,
I never knew I could, so far into it creep,
Yet there I was, alive and awake, looking at myself,
Confused, who was me, and who was myself.

I felt the pain tearing through my heart, through my breath,
And I began to think, was this the end, was this death,
That creature that everybody feared, but none had seen,
That comes unheralded, and covers you with its sheen.

In a few moments though, I knew not, because I turned aside,
In my sleep, unmindful of myself, sitting there by the bedside,
Myself began to talk, of my thoughts, their deeds and the results,
The times of agony, anguish, and those incessant insults.

He tried to pry me awake with the fear of its consequence,
I knew not, for I couldn’t feel him, or hear his cadence,
As it lilted on about my days here and redemption,
About how there wasn’t any more hope of salvation.

Until I mended my ways, and walked with him, step by step,
Yet, he wouldn’t let me get up, to begin at the first step,
And thus I didn’t know if he existed at all, was he there?
I looked around, and couldn’t see him anywhere.

He walked away, the moment I got awake,
Yet the trail to him, he never did break,
And I felt compelled to him everywhere,
Though not a word more, he would again share.

He led me by my hand, though he could never hold it,
And took me to the ends of places I could never visit,
Upon his light feet, he carried me into the light,
One that blinded and never needed human sight.

And under it, I saw upon myself, all those marks I had inherited,
Marks of the pain, the sorrows that I had long since inflicted,
Marks that stained the spotless white, of the dress I never wore,
And yet, I was sure, it wasn’t me, that I had seen snore.

It wasn’t me, that had done those deeds and could still smile,
It was an aberration, one whose misdeeds could only stockpile,
And yet, there it was, a life form, alive in its heartbeat,
So much alike, so much of me, it just threw me off my feet.

I knew not when I returned, only that it was over for now,
And I kept asking myself only one thing, “how, how”?
Every single word, I saw me confess, and yet hadn’t spoken,
And yet there it was, all crystal clear and unbroken.

The voice of me, or the voice of myself, I knew not,
It neither commanded, and it surely demanded not,
It lulled me off the heavenly cliff, though slippery and steep,
And back into this world, and its myth called sleep.

A lyrical version of my experience on the morning of 17th March, 2007, when I felt torn apart from myself and watched as I talked to myself. The time came to a standstill as I conversed, and discussed my whole lifetime and its experiences, and watched every scene being shredded apart to reveal the stains behind them. Stains that would never go away, but ones that could have been prevented. I watched as I saw myself turning around, twisting and tossing in my sleep, and was yet talking to myself. An experience that I hope I get to see more often.

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