Yes, I am I. I myself, just what I turned out to be after all, a sort of accessory or leftover, the foggy suburbs of my sincere emotion, it's me here inside of me, it's me...

CRITICAL AGE...

Fearsome, awesome ---
Too late to change ! ---
You've come for me also,
My critical age !

No weakling am I,
Yet I don't feel good.
Am I heading right ?
Do I live as I should ?

I've lost my sleep,
My appetite too.
I'm indebted to all,
But what can I do ?

Like a stump on a meadow
Or a shadow on snow,
Or a grey rock showing
When tides are low...

Whose heart have I softened,
To whom stretched a hand ?
Whose pain did I soothe
Or at least understand ?

Who did I bring joy
Or console in old age ?
To whom did I show
The one true way ?

I'm indebted to all,
?
Yet what can I do ?
I could help a lot,
But I'm helpless too.

From grief I've escaped,
I've escaped from ill health,
From very death,
But not from myself...