Beyond the Silver

A mirror is not glass. It is a wound in the wall,
Where I meets its Not-I in the shadow.
There - an image that breathes without a body,
There - the truth frozen in illusion.

You look - and reflect your eyes,
But not yourself... rather, the one you play.
Is the smile a mask? Is the gaze a veil?
Or are you merely the echo of others' desires?

Is the true Self in the depths, beneath the glass?
Or perhaps a heart sleeping under a wing?
Only a web of light, rhymes of deception,
And the eternal trap of one's own state.

But... if you touch it with your forehead -
And do not fear yourself within that glass -
Perhaps, in the crack of the silver, will arise
Not a reflection, but someone who sighs...

On the other side - not a demon, not a friend, not a shadow -
But Truth. A voice without names or walls.
It is not similar, not cunning, not tender -
But finally - infinitely true.