The perfection of anonymity
Even in the place where some knew my name
I walked unknown though, occasionally, some would mutter,
some would mouth a whisper:
That's him
and point in the direction.
Here, however, is the perfection of anonymity
for I
not only go without an identity,
I go too without a name.
Here, however, as
I slip through department stores and streets
and get off trains and walk into stations
like a shadow
as one more in the crowd
is the perfection of my anonymity for I not only
go without an identity, I go too without a name.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Autumn's here
The heat's down from 34 C to below 30 C
and my daughter declares:
It's autumn.
A day of dark clouds and cool air
spoils us and my son declares:
It's autumn.
Are you sure?
I ask and they mock me.
Their friends told them it's autumn
and we unemployed migrant adults
should listen to the children
for their friends have lived here
all the ten or thirteen years of their lives
and who are we unemployable migrant adults to question
the wisdom of the local children?
And, by the way, winter's round the corner.
OK, children of Australia,
we say,
it's autumn if you say so.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
poem by Raj Arumugam
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She was in the profession
She stopped her work at her lawn when she saw me
and leaned over the fence and we talked for over two hours
with my elbow on her posts and my feet resting
against the palings.
She had worked forty years in the same profession
and had seen generations through the doors. She
had enjoyed her work and people still call her to
tell her about themselves; they express their gratitude
and how much of a difference she had made.
She walked down the fence, waved her arms
and returned to the corner where I stood.
But what was work for?
she asked.
Forty years doing what was good for others
but nothing that was good for myself.
What was work for? she sighed.
What were forty years for? It destroyed me.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Identity Of I
Identity is not what I promise others
Identity is what I do when I am alone
Identity is what I think of others
Knowing all the hatred they've shown
Identity is what every wound reminds me
Identity is what I learn and what I pass by
Identity is what I see in the mirror
After giving my best try
Identity is what I make out of my given chance
Identity is what I accept and what I deny
No one else has control over me
Life is about me, and what I identify
poem by Abhiraj Rajadhyaksha
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Too Much Freedom
If we were to stay anonymous
And our need for identity be forgotten
Then life would have too much freedom
And end in its own destruction
For anonymity leads to
Self expression
Of the most extreme
For their freedom fears not
The eternal cell of scrutiny
For their is no face to judge
And confine its uncontrollable
Laugh from the face of mankind
To be free from the curse of identity
Is to be cursed with freedom
For too much freedom
Leads to too much power
And a 'Common Power' at that.
For conflicting ideas
Of freedom and voice
Would choose to eliminate
Hindrances by its own hand
Without the ordered hand of identity
For a faceless man
Is a man without shame
And doth be invisible
For his own expression may threaten
The expression of others
A darkened shade
Placed across the world by total freedom
Will forever mask the anonymous
For their actions can not be traced
To the identity that had given breath to it.
poem by Antoine La Najja
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The Lonely Spider
The lonely spider reaches out
For what, you might ask?
If not to spin his web then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
The lonely spider calls out
For what, you might ask?
If not for his mate then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
The lonely spider waits
For what, you might ask?
If not for his food then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
'A spider doesn't have feelings! '
How should you know?
'A spider isn't that smart! '
That could be true.
'A spider can never have a real identity! '
And neither could you, or any of us
But we try to find one even if we're not looking
And thats our life... after which we die
What have we done with our life up until then?
Either we've thrown it away, gave it up, wrecked it, lived it up to the fullest, took it for granted, or got far in it.
We still had one.
It's up to us what we shall do with it
Just like the lonely spider
Who will probably just end up on the bottom of your shoe anyways
poem by Andreanna Atkins
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Me: The thief of my Identity
The thief of my Identity
To my Friends and Family
My true Identity
Is all that makes me
I stole my identity
My personality
What I live for, What I breath for
What I'd fight for, what I'd die for
If not for my soul,
I would be lost once again
For my True Identity has fled me
Fled me for another
It is the dancing shadow you play with,
The beauty you can see in yourself,
And the hostility.
It wants to see you suffer,
It is most content, when you are in despair.
When I can look into my self
and find the real Identity of my inner self,
Until then I will not blame anyone
for my misfortune
poem by Brad Combs
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My Direction
Perfection is my direction
Even if thats all I had
Its not like I need no correction,
I just know that lifes not so bad
Picture this, everyday,
Kids that just cant find a way,
Stuck in this erect,
Cant find hope for better days
Its our 2 generation,
Our child of frustration
In the last 30 years teenage suicide has increased 300% in north america & is the 2nd major continent attached to canada.
Perfection is my direction
Even if thats all I had
Its not like I need no correction,
I just know that lifes not so bad
When will all my problems disappear?
Am I just going crazy from the fear?
Oh why am I going far past the break
The bridge is like a way,
And I still cant think straight.
Perfection is my direction
Even if thats all I had
Its not like I need no correction,
I just know that lifes not so bad
I met my destination
Whats life to complain about?
All these aggrivations
Building till the sea fall out
Im running by, no lie,
When every time I lie,
(dont tell me without a doubt this new found luck has all run out [repeat])
Perfection is my direction
Even if thats all I had
Its not like I need no correction,
I just know that lifes not so bad
song performed by by Sum 41
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men in Suits
Men in suits
Seem to be
In search of
Anonymity
What beats behind
Their double breasts
What lurks within
Suit trousers
What wicked thoughts
Lie behind
Their endless yes sir no sirs?
Men in suits
Seem to be
Unsure of
Their identity.
poem by David Keig
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She dared to be different
She dared to be different
She packed her bags
And walked away quietly
From the familiar scene
The family looked on
Shocked and dismayed
As she caught a bus and
Disappeared into the night
No message did she send
No calls did she take
As she wanted anonymity
She destroyed her identity
She went on to change
Her appearance and her name
These were her first steps
Towards her own independence
The family finally stopped
Trying to track her down
Bowing to the inevitable that
If she wanted to break away
Then it was her wish to do so
But what they never really did
Was to try and understand her
poem by Sandra Martyres
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No One Here Has Been Invited To Do The Boogey
With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
Reminisces up my ancestors.
With a reminiscing up their lives...
And what it takes,
For me to stay...
As I am this day today.
Is a reason why I pride my dignity.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
No time to do a hi-dee-hey!
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay,
To be buzzed around...
From midnight until dawn!
No...
No time to do a hi-dee-hey.
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay...
To whisper gossip,
With a nonstop to dropp it.
Like if I cropped it.
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!
With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
No!
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!
Like if I cropped it,
With a nonstopping to it?
No!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
'Uh...
You?
The 'artist'!
I like your footwork.
But no one here has been invited to do the boogey!
Got that?
Good!
Now do your chores! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Identity of a person
Identity of a person
Identity signifies complexity
Identity identifies with reality
Identity is the bearer of all vanity
How does a person identify with identity?
You define yourself based on what?
They say, they say
You’re kind or moral based on what?
Or
You’re a genius and shrewd based on what?
Or
You make the perfect lover, look for no other
They say, they say
You’re strong without a thought it may not last long
Or
You’ve skills since with a record you run up high bills
Or
You are shy but no one ever talks to you or says hi
Or
You never give up because right now you are on top
They say, they say
You are generous or gregarious when all you are is conscious
Or
You’re innovative yet not the originator of the idea conceived
What are the facts?
That makes your identity intact
When change on identity has the last impact?
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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For Thy Belief
FOR THY BELIEF
f
For thy belief
I can make any sacrifice
Of body or mind
Since I have no body or mind
For all is lost into you
My being is not a medium for yours
But the two at vain march to realms
Unknown
Except those who know
That their identity is no identity
Except the identity of their better self
The other
Yea frankly thyself
(karnailsingh Heranwale)
poem by Karnail Singh Heirwale
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Infallible Research
As a mad scientist.
I'm doing my research unknown and unheard of.
Failure after failure till my hearts content.
An invention of perfection.
An invention of dissection.
A changing of complexions.
Like Frankenstein it is another resurrection.
It is alive and electrified.
All in the secrets of anonymity.
Who I am I?
Where and why am I doing it?
Explain yourself with law baring.
The legality of morality.
It's okay it is another infallibility.
The wrongs are done unbeknownst to any one.
All in the name of a higher knowledge.
The wisdom of experimentation that isn't hurting anyone.
A belief in the normality of reasoning.
Predicting the changing of the seasons.
From hot to cold in so little time.
When the success comes you will dine upon my home made wine.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Your ethnic or sexual identity, what region of the country you're from, what your class is - those aspects of your identity are not the same as your aesthetic identity.
quote by Stanley Crouch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is Man A Winner Or A Loser?
Woman has a poof that the child is hers;
Man has no such proof to claim on the child.
She is cool with the child as identity.
He is desperate for his identity.
Identity crisis has disturbed him.
He invented marriage and chained woman.
He imposed chastity to mark his kids
And introduced patriarchal system.
Identity crisis has troubled him.
He assumed control over women.
He retained the progeny in his name
And made concubines to silence woman.
Identity crisis has worried him.
He bottled woman's skill and built up his.
He grew to be a Scholar. Sculptor and Poet
And assigned to woman the entertaining.
Identity crisis has bothered him.
He treated woman as her property.
He acquired family unfailingly
And labourd for its upkeep and status.
Identity crisis has bored him.
Water as she is, man could not cut her.
Tired of heat outside, man needed a shade
And sheltered himself in woman's coolness.
Woman treated man with due sympathy
With no fight with him for identity.
Her child is enough for her identity.
She helped him to anchor himself in her.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Mistaken Identity
Undercover cop car
Came screeching to a halt
Body lying on the ground
Must be someones fault
Circumstantial evidence
Seemed to point her way
Her right to remain silent
Was all she heard them say
Blue dress, blue eyes
Blonde hair, about five foot nine
Wrong place, wrong time
Wrong face, wrong crime
(chorus):
Mistaken identity
Could happen to you or to me
Mistaken identity
Mistaken identity
Could happen to you or to me
Mistaken identity
Mistaken identity
(I didnt do it, no, I didnt do it)
No money for a lawyer
To defend her case
Standing in the line-up
Tears rolling down her face
No one cared to listen
Someone had to take the heat
Sometimes theres no justice
When youre a victim of the street
Wrong place, wrong time
Wrong face, wrong crime (x4)
(chorus):
Tu ut tu tu tu...tu ut tut tu tu
They didnt even say
Im sorry
Tried to put her away
In a hurry
Dont make her pay the price
Shes not guilty
(guilty)
For someone elses crime
Set her free
(set her free)
I didnt
I didnt
I didnt do it no (x4)
(chorus out)
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am what you would call a stern taskmaster. I expect perfection. And then a little more perfection when perfection is offered.
quote by Estee Lauder
Submitted by Simona Enache
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Ending Of Time?
The identity moves ahead
of the shadow of truth
I search for the absolute
in vain. Can I remove the emptiness
and talk to myself?
The core feeling is same.
We flow in our own separateness.
I want to outlive my brethren
and eat my death alone.
Mindful I watch the kernel,
swaying tree is silent
I am here due to a fault in the genes.
Grief is not my skull house.
Each night I sleep with dry lips
dreaming a lake.
My pillow floats like a chopped moon.
Silence of anonymity
in the heart of a storm.
It is a curious apparition.
The vibrations of distant whispers
fill up the lungs,
ripping apart the veins.
My inside blood utters
a shrill sob.Where to go?
We cannot return back. Ending of time?
poem by Satish Verma
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My Identity
So lost deep inside,
Is all that makes me.
My true identity,
Is hard to see.
To my friends and family,
I’m a different me.
I have a secret identity,
Wonder if you’ll ever see.
My thoughts and actions,
Are all that makes me,
But some things I may do,
May not describe me.
Now look inside me,
If you ever feel,
like it,
I’m no-one but me,
Never hiding my identity.
Don’t say I am hypocrisy,
Because I never showed you,
two of me.
Now please,
Look at me,
Try to see the real me.
I’m no-one but,
my real identity.
All full of beauty,
Inside me.
poem by Yisel Chong
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The narrative constructs the identity of the character, what can be called his or her narrative identity, in constructing that of the story told. It is the identity of the story that makes the identity of the character.
quote by Paul Ricoeur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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