"What is it?"

What does one do when all of it seems fake,
No wine, no cheese will help, nor cake.
A thunderous silence within feels so real,
People around look cool, say "No big deal!"

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.


The big, "real", unjust world around I see,
While one suffers in hunger, the other's on a shopping spree.
Where one endures the scorching heat, the other is basking for a tan,
One making dough by a flinch, the other only thinks of a "surviving" plan.

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.

Why is the agony not affecting me enough,
Am I bad, cruel, evil and innately rough?
What is it that I am missing here, are they like "keys",
At least tell me "You can find it!", it'll bring within peace.

But no! You don't do that, I ask, "WHO YOU ARE that I speak to"
"What is it that you understand? English, Spanish or Hebrew?"
Still no reply, I am tired of finding where this is leading
I'm questioning, listening, thinking and heeding

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.

The REFLECTION says,
"Look within and you will see"
"Why don't you ask, "Who is this "Me"?"
"What you see outside is all you have inside"
"It's high time! Sneak no more, don't hide"

I say,
"I don't like this answer, I am telling you now"
"I am used to logic and only to God, I bow?"
Ah! I see this bias, I accepted, since the first day,
When I "want" soemthing I go "outside" and pray?

And yet, the question lingers,

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.