If a ship is replaced, plank by plank, does it still remain the same?
Though we substitute old, for fresh logs, when it sinks, who is to blame?
Or does it require structural remodeling, won't its essence be lost?
By overhauling all its component, wont we lose the machine and the ghost?
My blood gets replaced every few months, bones every third year,
I shed my skin every few weeks, like a snake, I fear.
You can think of it as decay, that I am thoroughly degenerate,
I view it as my ability to heal, to renew and regenerate.
My beliefs change with the passing of the hour, my personalty in a decade,
My values remain stable for years, my self a temporary facade.
If in the same day, I can laugh and cry, feel ennui and angst,
Then change is perhaps, the only variable, nothing in me is const.
Who am I, at the core, if I am always in flux,
That I can change to be, who I want, isn't that the matter's crux?
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