The material world fragments our sight, splits our minds,
divides our gaze into smithereens of illusory truths,
one foot here, one foot there, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood,
new generations trek new life paths,
conceive stories with narratives that do not match.
Mirrors refract questions from the heart
projecting an otherness beyond my recognition.
Didn’t we occupy the same life space at one stage?
Or, did we end up victims of our preferred purported gaze?
I am shown shadows, only shadows that compel
me to be hostage for a script I didn’t write,
could not comprehend, nor recognise.
Whose script is testament to the universal truth?