I ask the feeling that arises: What is your name?

It only smiles at me, a familiar, quiet shame.

“Don’t you know me by now?” it softly replies,

“I’ve been the steady partner keeping you company all this time.”

And I just stare inward, searching midst dark,

Forgetting the language, missing every mark.

Is it emptiness, a void, or a hollow space?

A vague, heavy list that time can’t showcase.

How did it become so difficult to say,

For someone who once found it easy to play?

We claim that we know each other, we claim to be whole,

While forging new pieces to patch up the soul.

Sight is a mirror, making us believe what we see,

But sight is a thief in this vast majority.

Where we willingly surrender our everything, in the end,

Just to win a name for a feeling we can't comprehend.

I don’t know if it's real, or my mind is playing tricks on me.

Am I a clown in the circus, or the whole carnival belongs to me?