Staring out blankly,
As I join the imaginary dots.
And notice the hues and shadows,
Fleeting yonder across.
As perfect as it can be,
This art of caring.
I marvel in the Disillusionment,
The distortion;
And the echoes’ of truth
That I am hearing.
I cannot help but wonder,
Do my eyes actually see?
Or my ears,
Do they hear the truth?
Whose touch was it,
That I used to feel?
Naivety gave it a shape,
and words gave it just a mirage.
And I mused – was it really me?
Or just my imagination,
That conjured a lovely image!
