Inheritance That Is Not Materialistic

By Lakshana Gopinath

Me.

Am I me?

Would I be me

if not for two microscopic entities

converging in a singular instant of fertilization,

that sculpted me into being?

If not for the careful selection of endophenotypes,

would my thoughts wander in the same directions,

my laughter carry the same pitch

my fears take the same shape?

If not for the peculiar circuitry of an amygdala

I did not choose,

would I tremble differently in the face of uncertainty,

or carry softer reflexes toward love and anger?

What is me but a collection of echoes

ancient strands of code from two imperfect lives

woven into a body that learns,

adapts,

resists,

and dreams?

I wouldn't call it inheritance

but a quieter wealth

the invisible textures stitched into my being.

I inserted the cadence of patience,

a voice that steadies even when silence trembles.

His way of holding the world without breaking it

runs through my gestures,

a current no one can name but I carry still

survives in my own unease with mediocrity

I am not a copy,

but a unfurling of their unwritten legacies

emotional weather,

temperament,

the shadows and lights of their incomplete selves.

What I carry is not seen,

not negotiable,

but it structures the architecture of my soul

an inheritance above mere materials

a lineage of spirit,

a bequest of unseen infinities.

By Lakshana Gopinath