They were not decorations on our wall
We were shadows on theirs
Flickering like candle thoughts
Gathering, falling and dispersing
Like broods of clouds
When we stand across the divide
Looking at each other, it’s hard to tell
Who is real
And who is the figment of whose imagination.
Writer, did you write your book
Or did your book write you?
Artist, did you paint that look
In the eye of the portrait watching you
Or are you just a thought in its mind?
If you look, sometimes you will find
That the musician is the instrument
And the song is the conductor of his movement.
And when an architect erects a building
He is only doing so to house therein his restless feelings.
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.