I am chained in unseen stringed bondage of essence.
I am what this world defines me and labels me with.
I am bound, bound in my own self, outer existence.
My real Self is hidden under that floating hyacinth.
The flight of Self-discovery drifts towards identity
Like the skin-shedding metamorphosis of butterfly.
When the outer eyes dim in cynical earth’s vanity,
A hushed trumpet illuminates the insight, inner eye.
Echoes of inner self melts in outcries of outer self.
When I ignore what I am, I ensue what I might be.
Many puzzling choices are placed in abstract Shelf.
Something calls me. Searching, I find none but me.