All day I think about it

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.

Where did I come from
and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.

My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,

I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,

but who is it now in my ear, who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.

Molavi (Rumi)