The One Who Sees
Each thought arrives in costume,A preacher, a sinner, a sage,Some plead for pleasure,Some howl with rage. A thousand selves parade through me,Each claiming: “I am the real.”But they vanish like smoke in sunlight,Their voices too fleeting to feel. The addict knocks with trembling hands,The monk returns with grace,The doubter questions everything,The lover yearns for a …