Sitting by my study desk,
Gazing at the mirror, my 'self.'
Wandering in the turbulent thoughts,
Wondering for the entity or naught!
Searching for the pristine pith,
Seeking to know the mortality myth.
Writing or written, the lines of morrow!
Says the heart, deep in sorrow.
Who am I? Is this me?
This is flesh, indeed, not me!
Am I effigy? Am I a soul?
Am I a deed? Am I a dream?
Is it a trail; or a stage?
Neither real nor so fake.
Might this be the answer; or a quest?
No one knows what is next.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I know what's next...................................