50 years after…
I still have no name; I roam about in a strangely given name
I am bits and pieces of a number of things, places and peoples
I have no home and can’t feel at home anywhere; a vagabond?
I am not; but my fate is aligned to his.
My story cannot be told in a hurry…
50 years after, I am still confused as to my paternity; I claim one thing
I still limp, while my mates are walking…
Amidst the turbulence of time, I live
Fractured and abused; hope meets me on the road
And questions my intentions and pursuits. I, a mind
Filled with ideas, is lost in the matrix of another person. A case for life is made on my behalf,
But I care not for living if life is just another existence!