The Magic of Naming

If the world you see
is a reflection of your heart,

try rewriting just the names
to see the invisible light.

The old car is a silver carriage,
the dining chair is a pure throne,

and even the worn-out bag,
studded with jewels,
becomes a treasure chest woven from light.

"Off on a little vacation,"
I whisper, stepping out into the city.

Within this manifestation,
which has no fixed form,
I dress my words like a lady,

and gently accept
the hot pulse
carved into my chest as love.

Even after the clock strikes twelve,
with the eyes of a Cinderella
whose magic never fades.