When a painting looked at me
A questioned walked up to me -
'Was I a shaman,
A mad man,
Or ignorance looking at it?'

I feel free to talk - I replied
I feel free to look at you - I continued
And I admire your self-control - I ended my little speech.

It held me long
I stayed in
It wanted me to believe in signs
In fate
I kept laughing,
Then it died on me
Becoming one more map
What was once a paining, so it called itself.