Loss of Tracks

Waking up from sleep
About to do the morning tip
Then-“who are you” asked father
I went into uproar laughter
I decided to have an answer throw
Yet I had no words to know
I screamed and ran out
I think, towards the south
To the market
Having nothing save a jacket
I demanded that I should be told
I went to a place of mould
Who am I?
I asked being shy
I traveled round looking
For where the truth was lying
Who I am was my desire
Then I had to realize after an inquire
That the truth was in me
And when I asked me,
I found out that I was me
And everything I wanted to be
And that whatever I wanted people to see,
Should be the reflection of me.