My perfection is broken,
Just like the shattered mirror.
Million reflections to one soul,
But just one perception.
Truth is unmisted and privileged
Its purpose never almost as true.
The visage is still clear in the broken pieces
Its intentions not.
The glass serves its purpose
Broken or still
The reflections mostly as never.
I am an observer of reality,
The mirror is seeing my reality.
Almost perfect. Completely crushed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem