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.