A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


Veiled by the fabric of conceptualisation
life assumes a metaphorical,
rather than an actual, substance,
becomes permanently disguised
as a simile of its real self.
Lost in a token world
we may spend our entire time
hopping the stepping stones
of generalisation,
hiding behind the pillars
in the temple of the status quo
In constant search of our reflection,
"Where is the glass
that will reveal my true face?"
The labyrinth lures us further and further
into its enmeshing snares,
the false beliefs and lies
that stain and dye us to the bone.
The answers will never be true
until we ask
"Who am I that asks the question?"
Then the journey may begin.

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