From the diary of a sage
 
I became an
intellectual stranger
in a new land, endowed
with another language
on a higher level,
free from the one
I grew out of as I
saw myself being this stranger
that I resented but yet envied,
who knew every word
that was written,
that repeated them
in front of the old me,
the jealous and resentful me.
 
He knew all the poetic verses
and all the meanings of them
from building up his knowledge
through his love of words.
I became that stranger
who I used to envy and revile.
 
Knowledge is my knowing
what I knew so little about
the man who I didn’t like.

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