Self

Self

Not knowing which world to call home,
He chose an arbitrary tongue and creed,
Pitched an improvised tent on sand.
Beneath the canopy of a little star,
He began his heart's commerce with things:
was that the real me?

By chance on his long trek he encountered an idol,
Assumed the semblanceof a worshipper,
Calling these men friends , those men enemies,
Deploying emotions in their appropriate places.
The little shop of his life throve:
was that the real me?

After a spell of prosperity he went broke,
As if he had toppled his own dynasty.
The world cold-shouldered him, ridiculed him, punished him,
And yet all he had lost was his crown.
Lying awake at night he brooded:
was that the real me?

Meanwhile another world was posting bills for a missing person.
His disappearance surprised the vacant room
Where another dream was waiting for him to dream,
And numerous rumours were ready to give him a shape
Hinting at an unwritten biography:
was that the real me?

自己

不知哪个世界才是他的家乡，
他选择了这种语言，这种宗教，
他在沙上搭起一个临时的帐篷，
于是受着头上一颗小星的笼罩，
他开始和事物作着感情的交易：
不知那是否确是我自己。

在征途上他偶尔碰见一个偶像，
于是变成它的膜拜者的模样，
把这些称为友，把那些称为敌，
喜怒哀乐都摆到了应摆的地方，
他的生活的小店辉煌而富丽：
不知那是否确是我自己。

昌盛了一个时期，他就破了产，
仿佛一个王朝被自己的手推翻，
事物冷淡他，嘲笑他，惩罚他，
但他失掉的不过是一个王冠，
午夜不眠时他确曾感到忧郁：
不知那是否确是我自己。

另一个世界招贴着寻人启事，
他的失踪引起了空室的惊讶，
那里另有一场梦等他去睡眠，
还有多少谣言都等着制造他，
这都暗示一本未写成的传记：
不知那是否确是我自己。