I am your fear,
No more no less,
I flow through your soul filling in,
Those unholy vile crevices.
I am the cowardice of your gun,
The trigger of which, in your hand,
Makes you my master, my slave, my instrument of pride,
Makes you more powerful,
Than thousand prayers on the other side.
I am the animal you keep in a cage,
A cage, sometimes, an edifice that weathers ages,
Sometimes only your eyes, red and full of hate.
I feed each day on a fantasy,
To be released from captivity,
Pacing up and down the enclosure, hungered by the wait.
I am the weakness that lurks in the corners,
And one ominous day, in a platter glinting like mad eyes,
Brings in the keys that will set the animal free.
I am the writhing, crying blood, flowing,
That becomes your victory song, as it turns a putrid brown,
I am the oblivion of each pore in your festering soul,
As you take my name when the sword is coming down.
I am the desire to own,
Every inch of soil, every speck of fire,
Every soul of man, every mannequin of desire,
I am your wars, I am the spoils of those wars too
I am the 'I', so humongous, that I am the 'you',
I am not God,
Of course not! Preposterous !
Who would want to be God in this world ?
But when you kneel there feeble in your legs,
Bowed head, closed eyes, wholly overawed,
I am then, most certainly, without a doubt,