I cry, I smile, I prophesy—
Yet still, I'm blind.
I call myself mine,
Refined,
Relaxed, selfless,
Yet helpless.
I name myself a lamp,
But who controls my flame?
Who turns it on or snuffs it out?
Like day and night—who holds their reign,
What hand keeps time for them, for me?
Who am I?
Am I strong
Because I'm weary of my weakness?
Or strong
Because I hide it well?
Who am I to question what is holy?
Is it he who believes, preaches,
But cannot practice?
Or he who believes, practices,
But does not preach?
And what of those
Who stand neither here nor there?
Who is the better teacher?
The one who teaches others
But forgets himself,
Or the one who learns within
Yet shares with none?
And what of those
Who teach neither self nor soul?
But what do I know?
If I do not know me,
What does anyone know?
If no one knows tomorrow,
What does today reveal?