Through Whose Eyes?

At this turn in life, I sometimes wonder,

what would this life look like
if someone could see it through their eyes?

The shadows of trees in the afternoon sun,
the rising steam from a cup of hot tea...
Would they see these things the way I do?

Perhaps not quite the same.
Perhaps they never could.

But would their curiosity be any less?

Would some girl find something in me worth noticing?
Would a poet look upon me
with the knowing eyes of another poet?
Or would they simply dismiss me as being
a little too forward, a little too strange?

And how would I appear
through the eyes of a stranger
I happened to meet one day?

An unnecessary inconvenience,
or simply another decent human being?

Tell me,

what am I to the very nature
for which all this has been arranged?

And what am I
to the Creator of this vast universe?

Like all the other beings He has brought into existence,
am I dear to Him, too,
simply because I am one of His creations?

Does the touch of my sorrow
ever reach Him?

What am I in His eyes?
A poet? A human being?
Or merely a memory of His creation?

What is the worth of all that I create
in His eyes?

I wish I knew.

And now, setting aside
all those imagined eyes,
all those ways of being seen,
I turn towards the one
I have perhaps understood the least.

Myself.

What am I like
in my own eyes?

Who am I?