What is it that makes me bleed profusely?
I search for this plank in my eye... sawdust?
Like the grains of sand and gravel, subtly,
We then subconsciously blink to adjust,
Avoiding an unfortunate sully.
Blood had spewed everywhere as if a splash!
Blinded and beneath waves of sultriness,
Boiling and cauterizing subtle wounds,
This juxtaposition of subtle pain.
Pain has always been subtle, always has.
Like the way your glasses broke into shards.
I have always known these fragments of glass.
Never blood, sand, gravel, sawdust, a plank.
But your subtle beautiful concussion.
Who told you that there was something like soul-mate floating around in the depths of the air?
Who told you that even air has depths?
Was it during introspection that it dawned upon you that all shallow things have depths?
But then, the air is not shallow;
It is not deep, nor shallow;
How has the shallow air depths?
If there are soul-mates floating in the air, it cannot be shallow;
If the air is a mere mixture of gases, it cannot harbour depth.
Now turn everything around:
The air is shallow because it has souls floating in it;
The air is deep because it is a mixture of gases-
It is all a tale of contrasting realities,
And I am asked that why is the shallow air deep, and where is the depth hidden?
If somethin is hidden, how can I measure the depth and the shallowness?
If it is visible, I cannot see it.
I cannot see it even when I see it.
After all, things visible are invisible,
And relatedness is a centrifugal force.