A cube made of glass
Set apart two worlds.
The world outside –
Full of people, things.
It seemed bright
And somewhat unified,
But distant for the cube's inside.
The room within the cube
Was empty at first sight.
There was nothing to be seen,
Nothing, except one thing.
Its world tried to say a word,
But only an inarticulate noise came out,
As if its tongue was cut out
Or, maybe, taken was its throat?
Then the world, trapped,
Waved its hands hard
To attract attention of the things,
Which existed outside.
It tried to show them all
How lonely it was there,
How it thirsted for some care,
How ached for the air.
It indeed gave
Though its parts felt numb.
But all the pains were in vain,
Because everything inside the cube
Was for that world humdrum.
They were busy to take a notice
That the world, trapped in the cube,
Was, in fact, much deeper and larger,
Although narrowed in a tiny room.
Yet the poor thing didn't know
That the world behind the glass,
Was just trapped in its own cubes,
Which were as transparent and proof
As its own one.
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