Illusion

“is life an illusion?” ... As a young kid, loved the magical illusion... With every flick of the hand, a world unfolds, Mysteries hidden in stories told, Where wonder reigns and logic defies, In the heart of magic, the illusion lies. As a grown-up kid, illusion took over thoughts .... In a world where wands weave dreams so bright, Illusions dance in shadows, taking flight, With whispered spells and secrets to unfold, Magic's embrace reveals the tales untold. As an adult, chased illusion every day .... As a mature adult, realities started to sink in..... A moonbeam drips across my shadow— a silver tear on the canvas of night, yet it trembles, weightless, as though woven from breath, a mirage cradled by wind. The desert of my mind stretches, each dune a memory that flickers— a flame extinguishing itself in the vast mirror of my thoughts. I chase a golden grain of truth, curling through fingers like sand in an hourglass— each bead a moment that slipped just beyond recall, recalling Poe’s plaintive question: is all this “a dream within a dream”? Kabir whispered that life is but a bubble, a moon’s reflection— a fragile orb suspended above an ocean of emptiness — I catch its image in my gaze, yet the bubble bursts before I know its name. Silhouettes of truth shimmer— a forest of fractal whispers dancing with branches that fold into themselves — reality unfurls and folds, a kaleidoscope in the mind’s eye. In this hall of mirrors I press my palm against glass— feeling warmth that dissolves into cool air, a phantasm of made-believe. Still, I wander through the echo— where light splits into shards of phantom hope— and learn, as Amy Lowell watched the beetle hide— how beauty flees when chased . In the end, illusion is not an absence, but the prism through which we see— and even as it fades, its fragments paint the world with wonder.