My seeing makes it shine
my touching makes it come alive
My feeling makes it glow
my holding makes it grow real
My senses make the sense
out of the ramblings that girt me
And yet leave me confounded
from the very core of my seeking
The meaning of the words make-believe
lend a context to the ants
crawling across the pages,
conspiracy of language unsaid
My falling out from within me
into the lap of the other
makes it a longing
to unbecome me
And yet,
it is being devoid of all senses
that enhances my perceiving
leading me to a void, most filling
A void unlike any, even itself
that makes the predicament of life
worth enduring
to become the zilch
out of the nothing,
at last realised
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