There's an amorphous mirror,
Through which we seem
To perceive the reflections of
A live theater play.
Sadly, the mirror is often dirty,
It displays only the echo of division,
Of singularity through spare parts,
Spinning the wheel of judgment,
Pursuing a self-interested life,
Associating with the drama's flow.
No wonder one tries to escape,
To alter the plot, the scenes
And takes himself as the doer of actions,
As the director of the play,
Irenic is our core,
The background a wholesome state,
Why enjoy being fooled
By a mirage that won't blow off,
By a hallucination - the ego land?
This mirror falsely names itself
"I and the rest".
Topic(s) of this poem: ego , perception, philosophical
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.