There are strangers all around me:
Right and left and front.
They are with me when they feel like it,
They are with me when I am alone.
For what is a stranger, oh friend?
It is a person you don’t know.
So I ask myself if I know myself,
Who I am. And the answer is no.
What then do I know of others:
Acquaintances and family and friends?
When I know that somewhere deep in them,
They are strangers to themselves!
Thus there are strangers all around me.
Me to myself, and they to their own.
And when a person does not know himself,
How will the others know?