Reawaken monologues

I'm neither the son of earth, nor of water
Fire is never my beginning, vastness never my end.
I could be the inertia you felt in city streets
The gravity that hindered your flight
The nightlife you never wished
The daylight you always ran into
In bare trees, raped in mid winter
In demolished mosques, dried debris of Muhammad
I spring, secular and unknown .
I'm the sleep in a wearied traveler's eye
The indecisive fate of Alfred Prufrock
The Irish vessel ,which emptied itself
Once upon a cold January night, seldom tampered.
Somebody would desire me in their lonely caffeine drink
While another in her ambitious swim
Across the sunflaked channel
I play executive with death ,
Instrumenting the impervious elegies
The roaring requiem at the Fall of Berlin,
The torn walls of raw towns
Where dying is a belief of life
And living, an unconstrained persuasion.
I'm the pen scholars never held
The questions they never asked
The veil forbidden from light
The comfort you felt in suicide.