Children believe they can vanish
As long as they can’t see the world
I go to the window curtain
I don’t look out on the world
The curtain flows to the floor
I wrap it around me and softly I sing
A new song of wandering words
My voice feels held in the curtain
It’s warm and it’s so secure
No doubt there’s a child shaped mass,
Wrapped in the velvet drape,
And my feet poke out on the floor.
I have no awareness of that,
Only the warmth in darkness
And the song of the wandering words.
I don’t exist anymore.
The Dreaming Path 
Amusingly, I found that the world does forget you unless you make your presence felt, your voice heard, your steps firmly noticed.. Truly, we can easily stop existing to others, and sometimes also to ourselves. Beautiful poetry!
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being ‘behind the curtain’ is symbolic of that yes – and more
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