Saturday, January 23, 2010


What is it like in someone else’s head,
Knowing the world through someone else’s mind,
Feeling a different joy, a different dread,
By other values drawn and aims defined?

How far can one inhabit someone else
By imitation or by empathy
And, actor-like, appear to feel the pulse
And own the soul of that identity?

I think I’ll never know another soul,
Each one an enigmatic mystery;
In fact, to know my own’s a lifelong goal,
Striving to realize its destiny.

Though I presume to feel what you may feel,
My sympathy’s approximate, not real.