How do I see the world?
It is not the I that is important- or the you-
but rather, the we,
in that I am inseparable from you;
my love and my burning desire are not 'my'
the mind is an illusion, a pervasion of 'self'
and the sky is a cycle connecting the earth.
We're in a universe of ironies and I
am amused at this, the metaphor of metaphors-
the typology of who we 'are' is forever enlightening.
And in the midst of all this are the slightly insane,
I among them; those who try and put
a name to the unnameable.
Your beauty cannot be described,
we are all doomed to be lonely, and
poetry is a vain attempt to connect a string
and draw an arrow to the unity of things.