Ten to Ninety

There is no reason to die except An intent to be born again Considering this, we are living dead Why don’t we remember it then Scientists say that we use only About ten percent of brain cells The other ninety must feel a bit lonely They can’t show up anything else But a passive presence, or maybe not Entirely passive, the scientists say But nobody tells what exactly we’ve got That our conscious cannot display There are versions, conjectures, and all that stuff Theories of reincarnation But for whom this looks credible enough And not nearly a consolation? Say that skepticism is overrated Count me among those who agree But has anyone clearly stated About their past life's afternoon tea? Not to mention more serious subjects In a very detailed way That only experience can select From a memory’s disarray Considering the hesitations And a faith in some grand scheme There could have been more occasions If we wake those cells from a dream I believe some were able to do that Maybe more, but they lurk in silence Those who talk about it, sound not Very clear, so there’s no special guidance I foresaw that we raise from the dead I’ll be glad to know you agree Or in case you oppose, go ahead Use your ten percent cells for me.