Who am I? What am I? What is my existence? Where am I heading? What will become of me?—Five questions, no answers, only increasingly dark possibilities.
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Who am I,
when I laugh so loud, and also when I cry?
Am I a terrible figment of God’s imagination,
or perhaps, as I often tell myself, a mirthful lie?
Perhaps, I am what was meant to be discarded,
or maybe, to be ignored carelessly, or meant to die
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What am I,
when I beg and beseech, looking up to the sky?
Am I a chaotic and messy pile of junk and trash,
or perhaps a weird collection of impossible thoughts?
Perhaps, I am a useless and wasteful hand of tarot,
a card with no picture or symbol, only stains and dots
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What is my existence,
when I examine my state from some distance?
Is this just a never-ending nightmare,
or perhaps just sand slipping through my grasp?
Perhaps, there is really nothing that I truly have,
and maybe the rope of hope is just a venomous asp
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Where am I heading,
with a resolve all strong, and my wings all spreading?
Am I diving headfirst into an unfathomable abyss,
or perhaps heading towards doom, with a loud roar?
Perhaps, I am driving down the road to hell,
while the shadow of doubt grows even more
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What will become of me,
will I ever know for sure, and will I ever see?
Will I always be searching for what I dream of,
or is the door just locked forever, and there is no key?
Perhaps, what I touch, will one day become gold,
but by then, all the light will be lost to the dark sea
Shehryar khawar 