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Poems On / About IDENTITY  8/3/2015 8:23:33 PM
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According To The Flesh

According to the flesh;
In sincerity of the heart;
Helping you to fix things in the right order.

In 1416 love was made!
And, you were just a girl when love came to you;
After it, a child was born!
And, you always remember November because of the act.

This chils is yet to get an identity,
The true identity!
With the age of time;
Then came 1981;
Which was 565 years after,
Identifying the code of the name given to your child.

Nature, lust, pleasure!
According to the flesh;
But, how long can we live to fulfil our respective dreams?
On this matter,
With this issue,
On earth.

Nature, lust, pleasure!
The lost child;
Without a true identity,
But, living around.
Nature, lust, pleasure!
With the muse of history,
After 565 years;
After three failed abortions recorded by the mother.
Edward Kofi Louis

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Exploring Happiness #23- Identity

I am an entity
complete and secure,
but what is my identity
I cannot be sure
unless I am compared.
To a tree I am small.
To a snail I am tall.
To water I am solid.
To a rock, I am fluid
with motion.
I am
and yet what am I,
unless I am compared?

We are not one identity, but rather many. We are husbands or wives, sons or daughters, parents, grandparents, professional people, individuals, friends.
One person assumes many different roles in his lifetime. This is really a source of strength. If one of our identities fails us through accident or loss, we still have all the other facets of our nature to give us wholeness.
Our excellence is not determined by one part of our nature, but rather by the sum of all of our diverse selves.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The worth of a person, or thing or an idea, is in being,
not in doing, not in having.
Alice Mary Hilton

I want, by understanding myself to understand others.
I want to be all that I am capable of becoming.
Kathryn Mansfield
June Stepansky

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Primordial Identity

Primordial Identity

* Soubhagyabanta Maharana

Everyone around me
Is a strange passer-by here
To know the reality of my identity
Which has duped my innocence
With an irresistible spirit
Of surging profanity.

Years have gone by
Bidding adieu to transitory moments
And momentary events
On the sands of fleeing times
Ignoring my subtle requests
To crave for a valid individuality.

In the vicissitudes of fortune
I have come across people
Talking big before me
Belittling their image before me
Praising high of me in pretense
Speaking ill of others deliberately
To synchronize their feelings.

I know not
Who is more primitive
In attitude and etiquette
Than my innocuous self?
Everybody thinks himself
To be an icon here
Amid pretence and hypocrisy
To hide the primordial identity
That pains me very much
Looking deepening darkness around me.

Soubhagyabanta Maharana

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Lost Identity

I can't live free, one way or otherwise,
I'm tied permanently by my legs, hands, heart and mind,
The psychology of slavery,
I do everything willingly, happily in form of lost identity,
I revel in the form of lost identity,
I believe I enjoy every moment of my life in the mosquito net,

My culture has become a tag of ridicule,
Despicable and a shame to wear,
I believe I'm cultureless and free,
Yet I'm caught in the foreign spider web,
I'm a soccer player in a match,
Yet I play with no one,
I kick the ball to either side, annoying and pleasing everyone,
I believe I enjoy every moment of the game,
Yet my manoeuvre is determined by the circumference of the cage,
So widely decorated, I can't bear to detach my attention from it,
I'm forever captivated by it, day in - day out,
I'm a spectre of that image,
I dance to it all the time,
Nobody laughs at me, unless I try to be African,

I'm in the middle of a raging river, the Limpopo River,
Yet I can't swim, but I don't care,
What I care about is happiness,
As long as I'm happy, I will keep on drifting away,
Drifting away from me and my pride,
In pursuit of a false identity,
In pursuit of an identity not of my kind,
I've become selfish to myself,

I have painted my children with my twisted tongue,
I want them to speak like me, like everybody else,
But not like the people of my indigenous kind,
They too now speak in tongues,
They are a distance far from me,
Their children too, will be a distance far from them,
We will be a chain running into oblivion,

The culture painters are deceitful,
They sell everything on contract,
Whatever one bought it is his or hers but can't use it at will,
One is caught in a spider web of conditional living,
Tied to the chain forever but free to elongate it,
To whatever distance, as long as the move is forward,
It is everything else but, transformation of dark Africa! !
Niki Nicholas Nkuna

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Poems On / About IDENTITY