I Don’t Know Myself

Often and again I thinks of me And the more I think The more confused I become I think who I am And for what I have come To be busy in earning Day and night and yearning For a morning That is free of worldly aching I think where I have come from Is that God’s pious Dome To spread love in every home And remove the heart’s gloom Or from hell’s hateful storm To distribute painful scorn And every kind of evils Which are born Out of selfish thorn I think where I am to go To a rich to myself blow For all the pomp and show Or to a poor to bend low Before every powerful glow And for my every need All the time to bow Often and again I think of my being Was it the mistake of an unlucky thing Or a zeal of a newly bound string That the joys of youth bring Or the obligation of God Just throw me and fling Into the painful world and Its sorrowful spring The more I think The more disturbed I become Can any of you come To bring me out of this confused drum?