I

I, the solitary traveller of the street of unknowns;
I, the child who escapes from the echo of his own voice.

I, on his back, carrying the uncommitted sin;
The blind man of God in blind man’s buff, the sultan of djinns.

I, the untired watchmen of inns with no travellers;
I, the everlasting forest of unheating stokeholes.

I, the arctic sailing boat on frozen rocks;
The golden fortune of orphans, on the starry lights between minarets.

I, head too heavy, thought falling into the void;
In the wheel of ego, the suffering and blind horse.

I, responsible for the transgressions of those who speak of God;
I, the past of today, the future of tomorrow.

I, I, I; upon seeing the sea on the map, the drowned;
The possessor of lands, from them, the expelled.

Always am I mirror and dream; always moth and candle;
The dead and the Denier – the Denied; the dizziness, the abyss…

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