The Question

sometimes we lose ourselves... and we ask ourselves the Question

THE QUESTION

He sat quietly upon the walk.

He did not smile, he did not talk.

At first I thought him a beggar, living on the street.

But, he did not accost the passerby's, and his dress was much to neat.

I was overtaken by curiosity, I had to take a look.

As I approached him, at his feet I saw an open book.

Maybe he was reading, but... the pages were bare.

I wanted to leave, but something about him kept me there.

All of the sudden, he whispered my name.

I thought, "Who is this man, what is his game?".

Faster than I could ask, "Who...",

He whispered, "I am you.".

In shock, I quickly looked around.

Not a soul in sight. I listened and couldn't hear a sound.

"This is a dream, it has to be!".

It was then, that lonely man smiled at me.

He handed me a pen and the open book.

He whispered the answer to my puzzled look.

"Write the answer to the question. Turn the page.".

At once I felt anger turn to rage.

How dare this man claim to be me!

Does he take me as a fool? A crazy man he must be!

From nowhere a tear rolled down my face,

When I realized he disappeared, without a trace.

"What is going on?", I asked me.

The familiar whisper said, "Turn the page and you will see.".

So I turned the page and began to cry,

When I read the question... Who am I?