UNTITLED YOU

You are nay the elan-vital

of my torso,

you are something esoteric,

You sojourn therein,

yet you are nay the soul

therein,

your ousia, I can't perlustrate ;

Know not how to gape a bit

inside of you ;

Has anyone fathomed you?

Did  Socrates and Plato do well,

they envisaged that you must have

coherent vitality, the toil of which

was the most sacrosanct litigation,

They were near to the sun shimmering

lustrously, climbed the mountain of

discerning the soul ;

Is the animism upright?

You have plopped all of us into Aporia ;

All difficile for me to secern what de

facto you are.

All I had found that I couldn't find

the spiritual essence ;

Julia Musolino has declared wantonly,

no whiff for the certainty of the soul;

I don't deem the holy books, but the

ontology of philosophers repercussing

their doctrines on the sensibility of

soul.

until we denude eudaimonia,

let the symphony be our lot

plopping us into ataraxia.

©Adi Adnan