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.
Comments
Post a Comment