What Am I? Poem by Anahit Arustamyan

WHAT AM I?

This armchair is my motionless cart.
The curtain behind me is my window's scarf.
The ceiling covers the crown of the sun.
This white hat pats my forehead but shades my eyes.
I am probably lame to leave the armchair and run.
I know where you are.
This armchair is heavy like Noah's ark.
The ceiling isn't leaking but my minds are in floods.
One thing is right.
The world's philosophy is an old wizard but what am I?