Illusion
I see you. All of you. I see your eyes staring at me, through me and beyond me. I see your faces – some old, some young, even babies. You, all of you, just staying there, in your tiny little houses, putting a charade nobody is really watching.
You are all different. You are poor. And you are rich. You are ordinary, middle class. You are alone. And you have so many family members. Yes, different. Do you feel different? You shouldn’t.
I am passing by your marble house. It was built to look beautiful. I see those trees, the small garden, even the flowers. You are rich for sure! Pardon me, your family is rich.
I see your neighbor. He is a big shot, a famous filthy rich politician. I know him, yes. He got rich from shady business with shady people, probably selling out his country and fellow citizens. Good for him. Is it? His house is even bigger, taller, shining marble everywhere, fresh flowers, small trees, wooden benches in the garden. In a few years he will have a small forest ...