Self-Identity

Who am I? Who am I?
For endless time I have asked—
digging through veils of doubt,
yet finding only absence.
 
History dissolved
behind the mask of manhood;
I forgot that eternity
outlives my pride.
 
I loved myself too much,
like Narcissus forever gazing
into a glass of water,
believing the reflection a destiny.
 
In that blind trust
I marched ahead—
past the impossible,
draped in the robes of greatness,
from exile to homeland,
from altar to chariot,
from the ordained path
to the scholar’s pedestal.
 
Yes, I told myself,
I am the chosen one,
nature’s favored son,
an Alexander, a Napoleon.
 
For years I lived
with the weight of this arrogance,
fighting the fight of living,
walking far,
through victories,
through failures,
through deserts of desire.
 
I never truly gained—
only fed the hunger
of being the greatest.
 
Then, in the thick soil
of struggle,
life’s hardness pressed.
Before the mirror,
I remembered my name.
 
And the day came:
a race of man against man,
competition, rivalry,
the lined-up armies of ambition.
Disciplined, inflated,
I lifted weapons—
the first spear
struck the earth,
and in that instant
I woke.
 
With my final breath
I saw:
before the road to liberation,
before the gate of nothingness,
the truth arrives—
I am no greater
than the ordinary.
 
Like an ant
I carried my delusion,
believing myself immense,
and in death
I returned,
small again,
equal to all.