By Lobsang Kyizom
I perch
at the crest of a heart,
that belongs to,
an illusionary figure
A manifestation,
of this half sane mind.

He’s an illusion
my mind, the illusionist
my heart, the audience
gasping and beguiled,
at a mere chimera.

Overturn and over throng,
At which rate,
The heart flinches,
With emotions as powerful,
Magnanimous as the Arizona.

Curious to solve a mystery,
self created, theatrical as it is,
speculating on matters,
as trivial as–
the touch of his hand,
the gaze of his eyes.

When I do speak of eyes,
I remember,
it is when I close it,
that I see that figure.

Magic as he is,
That he remains,

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