October 7th Blog

The Gateways

My eyes meet themselves in the shimmer
They don't dance,
They don't mingle,
They stand motionless
Each one is waiting for the others,
For them to step out of respective sockets
To show something unseen
They've been acquainted before,
For seldom one is unacquainted with oneself,
But they stare as if at a stranger
As if the life is not in the ear, or
The nose, or
The lips, or
The fingertips,
But instead in the inside of eyes,
The sights with which we try to glance
In which we question
For the truth,
The belief,
Is only a rock
If they see its texture as white and black
But what knowledge does a rock contain?
None but what lies beneath it.