Читать книгу And So I Write My Life - Юлия Н. Шувалова - Страница 4

You look into the mirror, and you see

The darkness underneath your loosened hair.

“What am I to myself?” – again you hear

Yourself repeating. All succumbed to sleep,

The elements and beasts. The moon was lit

In the black sky. To your endless steer

No healing to be ever found here.

Oh why have you been left alone with it?!

You tread in sadness on the dingy walk,

Not having found the meaning in the stock.

What is the truth? The truth, indeed, is silence.

For, having seen itself, it’s fallen mute.

And such is now the end of your dispute,

Reflected in the mirror’s sad radiance.