Who Am I?

Eyes flicker between question and answer. Lights are born in the heart of darkness— and return to it. Along the path, no one dares to look them in the eye. The secret of light is still unknown. They said: everything is relative— even truth itself; and so the streets stand empty. Yet the mouths of answers are as vast as the height of night— devouring questions, those questions everyone keeps asking: Who am I? And always, the answer is: a return without arrival. At the end of the road, thought remains alone. It is not a place— but the path that draws all places into being.