“What if the real question… isn’t who you are —
but who is asking to be born again?” In Buddhism, we call this samsara — the endless cycle of becoming. Birth. Death. Rebirth.

Illness stripped everything familiar from me.
Not just comfort. Certainty. The plans.
The identity. The illusion of control.

And in that unraveling… I didn’t look for answers.
I turned to the Dharma for insights. The Buddha taught non-self — that there isn’t a fixed, permanent identity behind all this. Just causes. Conditions. Patterns continuing.

Buddhist poetry allows what’s unresolved to rest in stillness. These verses are not conclusions, but contemplations—meant to be felt, questioned, and returned to.

It’s poetry shaped by discomfort. By stillness. By the space between pain and presence. This book isn’t here to give you answers. Maybe just by asking the question is enough.