Poetry
Illusions
On reality, appearances, and the self
I can no longer distinguish
between reality and the dreams
This image of me
I try not to see
(Remove this from my retina,
turn me into a blind man)
They call me pain.
Why would anyone choose to pour
their hopes and dreams upon this vessel?
The pain is self-inflicted
the suffering radiates
to whom are near and close.
Do we ever ask ourselves,
how do we turn this ship around?
May my life serve as a cautionary tale
of who one can become
when not knowing ourselves
we let ourselves fall -blinded-
for the illusions of the day,
so real
samsara
I refuse all help.
Let the sinking ship descend into the abyss
for an eternity of contemplation
a grave to the mariners and captain
the rudder is now useless to command
the pilot still attached is to the wheel
Maya, maya,
what is this sight I hold?
Maya, maya,
did I hold eternity in your bosom?
Were the tears made of joy,
or of despair?
Maya,
tell me,
is this a camouflage,
my skin?
Empty is the space inside the vowels,
hiding behind words,
truth hider,
not speaking up,
false prophet
Is what I fear,
the fall of my skin?
This loss of face
against reality
ultimate nakedness?
To see myself as in a mirror
no more pretense
bare body exposed
why didn’t I wash before you came,
brother?
How to love myself,
now I’m naked and alone?
Dying
Left of the idea of me
Buried
On a distant memory
a perennial heart
Is it the illusion of me you want?
Why do I hold to it so dearly?
Darling
Pablo Pereyra 2024. Thank you for reading.
