What lures everyone’s eyes
without vision
makes them dream to be me,
is but my image at sale, a star
on the cat-walk
that denies me a life-
I am he who is not I who
enters the stage
before I seem to enter;
an echo with a real voice
like the truth of liars
that makes silence eloquent,
to whom all propose a toast
and a hug, losing every other wish,
as if a stranger with whom
I’m forced to live…
as if my own eyes have given up
their search and become his.how can I
stop a living without life
I lead within myself?
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