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Those shadows that we reproach in others,
melt into ourselves.
We are enraged by the broken clock,
when in times past, no doubt,
we were the ones who made the wait
so long, so mute.
We are disturbed by the deafness of others,
but our words are hurled,
without lending to the wind the listening
that in truth the soul reaches.
And we raise the wall of pride
against the one who does not ask for forgiveness,
when we too disdain
to bend the reproachful heart.
Sometimes, what bothers us
is our reflection in its essence,
an echo that insists and squeezes,
of the human we are, consciousness. |