Who am I…? What do you mean..?
You know who I am..!
What are you playing at?
The same question, again?
Who am I? You KNOW who I am,
Don’t you know my name?
You want me to tell you
Who I am once again,
But don’t want my name?
But… I don’t understand..!
I have to use my name..!
How can I define myself without it…?!!
You want me to introduce myself
What was that word you used- PROPS..?!?
What do you mean, props..??!!
Name, profession, relationships,
Aren’t these the building blocks of identity?
Abandon them..! Oh.. but..!!
How will ‘I’ know who I am
If I throw away these… er… tags?
No, I am not a commodity
Sitting under the garish lights
Of an impersonal, soulless supermarket…!
I certainly am NOT..!
I resent that implication intensely..!
How obnoxious you are..!!
My bar-code..! What absolute rot..!
How can a human being
Bear a bar-code ..?!?
Listen, you know what?
I think I’ll catch up with you later,
Right now I need to go.
She had to rush away, escape.
Because the moment he mentioned barcodes,
Her forehead began to itch wildly.
Since that day an eon ago,
she has scrubbed until her fingers bled,
Nails broken, torn from their roots.
She scratched and peeled out
The skin of her forehead
to no avail. She knows now…
The barcode is embedded,
Stamped on her soul.
It can never be erased.
The postage stamp sized
Barcode is the only ground
Beneath her feet.
She doesn’t know how
The rest of the ground disappeared
From under her overnight.
She dare not stir or look down.
For beyond these meager dimensions
Is an unknown, gaping abyss.
Eyes shut tight in terror,
She stands there, balancing herself,
Afraid to loose the illusion she calls her life.
An identity remains unexpressed,
A symphony muted, unheard,
A consciousness dies unlived.
Life steps over the bar code
In one long stride and walks away
Her secrets unrevealed to an imprisoned being…