I Am Poem by Artchil Daug

I AM
the writings on the wall,
not that kind of writing,
a vandalism, chalk on
the dashboard of life
still uneventful, pronouncing

I AM
the first two syllables,
before a name can be said,
a river that flows
on the forest of shadows,
still playing, signifying

I AM
the ego asserting, coming
out of the voice, the shriek
of the beleaguered teacher
patiently marking
the tongue, that went playing

I AM
the blank slate, not completely
blank, in the echo of the
unheard notes, from the empty
stairway, clasping the railings,
reason, the passion for continuing

I AM,
who?