Who am I?

Who am I?
I would not be me if I can answer that, right?

They keep asking me, Who am I,
As if I can tell them
They keep asking about a me
Like I am a thing told to be.

Is my picture a description
Or my face a reproduction
Is it my name or my position
Is my body not a composition?

Well then, can one know me
By talking, living and communicating with me
Can a life be described, a smile be defined
When one cannot answer a simple "about me"?

Who am I then, if not a bubble
Transient, here today disappearing hereafter
Is there a me, beyond the mirage
Would I be me, if I answer that?

What then is the use asking through the voyage
If the ship is useless on the bank
There may be a me beyond all this,
Only one who is; can answer that.