I Don’t Know Myself Poem by V P Mahur

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?