Wajūd-e-shikasta

I have spent ages,
I have lost myself.

So many roads grew tired, so many footprints erased,
I disappeared down your paths, completely amazed.

By Time’s own hands, so many chains I broke,
Yet left my own soul weeping, my own spirit bespoke.

I was a traveler who grew defiant and worn,
Turned to stone by the reflection I had sworn.

No destination remains, no home, no trace,
No mark of love, no wait, no space.

All that I was has streamed away like tears,
Now one question echoes through the years:
Do I still exist?

This loss is a strange loss, I now see,
Defeated by the very being that is me.

Or perhaps…
Or perhaps in losing, I have finally won,
Separated from myself -into myself I’ve come.