Māyā

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

living wood1

Do I cease to exist if I am not seen,

Like a tree in a forest that makes no sound

Unless it is heard when it falls?

Do I exist in the mirror when I look,

An illusory glimpse into a framed reality

That is not real?

Viewer or image, who can say

Where reality resides

Or if we are but dreaming?

Is my life a mere illusion of the soul

Or perhaps a whispered image

In the mind of God?

Or is illusion’s self the fount,

Imagined solidity

Becoming real with every heartbeat?

If I am forgotten, was I ever there?

Did I leave my trace upon a world

Whose reality I question

Or was I just a zephyr

In the cosmic night

Whispered to the stars

By voiceless lips…

Or did I touch your heart?

living stone

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