The Web of Illusion

Such a day will come for me too, when I
will live completely as myself,
will find a life wholly self-reliant,
caring nothing for anyone's blame or displeasure—
what they call living truly in one's own life,
a life I have never lived before,
but have walked in dreams, alone down distant paths, so many times,
a life that calls to me every night, at least once,
the dream that wakes me daily with this hope—perhaps today is that longed-for day!

Every day I burn in fresh wounds,
every day I blend life with new births,
but surely this game has an end, because
everything ends one day, and it happens before death.
Before death, humans live,
before death, humans dream,
before death, humans find life's colors,
before death, life revels in life's play,
before death, humans do find life!

You wonder, what life is that, which is again one's own life?
Have you ever thought whose life I live, or you live, in daily life?
What spell makes me gather pebbles uninvited, if those pebbles serve no purpose of my own?
Not everything is mere attachment,
not every home becomes bonds of attachment,
some homes are of cherished love and affection,
some homes hold want, yet cower in fear of habit,
still other homes dwell in the silent vow of unknown joy.

Some homes of attachment,
some homes of dreams,
some homes where life seeks life.
Every day I search for a home of life,
I see that home of dreams,
whoever has blocked my path,
I dream, one day I'll live on my own path, even if alone...
without any companionship.

Some fears exist that bind humans in fear,
only one who conquers that fear knows how to walk one's own path,
who hates oneself at every step,
who chases away the fear of being afraid, by oneself!
I will walk exactly that path,
I will touch that infinite peak,
the rule that has daily scattered thorns on my path,
the path on which I've been bloodied walking every day...

One day this thorn-surrounded bloodied path will end,
a day will come exactly as my heart desires,
a dawn will come that will be purely joyful,
whose sunlight I'll see for myself, opening my own room's window,
that sun will spread light in my room, in every corner,
one day such a dawn will come for me too.

Borrowing hope from others' breath, I've lived all this while,
tying others' shoes to my feet, I've walked my own path,
others' manners and speech, their dance and rhythm I've learned, willingly or unwillingly,
what shame this is, written in every cell of mine moment by moment,
unknowingly I've made this mistake,
I've dishonored and humiliated myself,
I've neglected myself by myself,
thinking that so-and-so would come bringing some love, and such-and-such would give respect!
Yet I never understood or never wanted to understand myself...
that love, that respect—it lies only in one's own hands!

What did others give,
what more will others give,
if I don't serve rice on my own plate?
I've erred,
I've cheated myself daily,
given nothing to myself by myself,
yet thought everyone would give!
I've begged from others in the grief of my unfulfilled desires,
I've licked others' leftover plates to satisfy my hunger!

Did I ever value myself
exactly as much as I think I deserve?
Where do I hide my face today?
Having dishonored myself all this while,
with what do I cover that fault before myself?