The Plurality of the Self
Sometimes I am stranger to myself,
a vestige-d image of a soul.
So that knowing, I am neither, nor;
lending oneself to altruistic ism`s.
Foretelling as if a foreboding,
of this same body; me and I.
Stands content and afar, away
from its lonely shadows, showing.
Two persons, two lives
who knows how many, more.
Possess the body and its forms,
in present perfect, knowledge .
Confronting the self with clearness,
far from fictions, taken.
One person for each visage
in times of singularity, yet pleural.
Escaping within myself and without,
each not knowing, the other.
How it is or for whom it is,
Yet all is one; for one alone, even more.