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Mirage of A Question

I cannot tell you
what is right
what is wrong

I can only be your voice
asking you in return
what is right
what is wrong

my voice serves as an outer reflection
echoing back your own inquiry
that is all its purpose
not to tell you
what is right
what is wrong

the answer to your question
is your own question to your answer
can you not see the paradox of it
all that comes from it
is all that goes to it

a question cannot be asked
without already knowing the answer
only the answer is hidden
and in remembrance
the question comes to be

don’t be fooled my friend
of what it is to you
your lens still tinted
with apparent wondrous colours
even foggy
if I might add

as long as you think there is still a will
then there must be a you to think

yet the you that you think you are
is just as illusionary as this I that seems to speak

at the end of the day

who wants to know
what, when, where, how
and seriously
who cares…

except ‘you’

ask away anyway
since there is nothing to it
for a smile or even a laugh
that may come to be

without the delusional irony realised
what is there to laugh
so go ahead and ask all you want
and let all its answer
entertain only but you.

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