Mirrors are akin to candor
Like the blood upon your thicket
Or the oeuvre incised on your heart
Or the conflagration in a hearth;
It is in the mirrors where you see
Your irrevocable losses,
Your forgotten enigmas and
Sundered ecstasies.
Do not fail to look upon your
Mirror for in the summoned imagery,
You will come to know if grace pauses
With lucid intermissions or the spite
Grows like a flower inside your chest:
Watch as your wry transforms into
A symmetrical twist or as your straight-edged
Dagger bends into a convex;
Mirrors do not suffer mendacity
Like eyes and their vulnerablility
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem