I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly
As though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equably, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all which other men tell of?
Or am I that only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
Yearning for colours, for flowers for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighbourliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint and ready to say farewell to it all?
Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me these questions of mine,
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!
Dietrich Bonhoeffer 1906-1945
1 comment:
hi! just re-found your blog, i think i visited ages ago, but seemed not to be in use, thought you'd stopped using it, but just found the link from Chris Mars blog. It took my awhile to work out how you guys know each other,, as i know you from me pre-China life in Sydney, and Chris from my post-China life in Sydney.
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