Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I came across the poem below, written by Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
At dawn on of Monday 9 April, 1945, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was taken from Flossenburg Concentration Camp to a place of execution and hanged. He wrote the poem while imprisoned by the Nazis.

Who am I? They often tell me
I would step from my cell’s confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a squire from his country house.

Who am I? They often tell me
I would talk to my warders
freely, and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to command.

Who am I? They also tell me
I would bear the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I know of myself,
restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath as though hands were compressing my throat,
hungry for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsty for words of kindness, for neighbourliness,
trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation,
caught up in expectation of great events,
powerlessly grieving for friends at an infinite distance;
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.

Who am I? This or the other?

Am I one person today and tomorrow another?

Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,

and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?

Or is something within me still like a beaten army,

fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.

Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine.