I gaze through the windows of nearness and truth, searching for what is real and what is not I transverse across a million versions of myself, Somewhere, I tug at a turban; somewhere, I wear a skirt In one place, I iron a blazer; in another, I stitch wool. I discover more windows, and through them, I keep looking At what is truth and what is not Until I return to myself, with a sudden gasp of air A faint breaking sound of glass I return having seen versions of myself I do not recognise Some versions of you too perhaps And as they come together, they lead me closer to the truth until it falters, and no truth remains.