"let's get out of
this illusion"
she points out with a smile,
"is your favorite line"
i wanted to tell her
that's the opening line
of the novel i intend to write
in the near future.
but i didn't.

in this museum of man
we think we are just visitors
but live our lives all the while,

let me confess, i am confused,

i am misled by light effects,
cyclorama, well presented,
and sign boards deliberately
showing wrong directions.

one is continuously conditioned,
only to  blindly follow the  instructions.

gullibility is disastrous
that's the novel i plan is  all about.
don't take in the ideas someone create
for your consumption.
script your story in your own words.

at times
i have this feeling getting strong:
the original of me
is misplaced somewhere
in this very museum.
i keep on searching
to find,
though not confident enough
to ask any one.

who could answer
this ultimate mystery of life?