Before I had glasses the world
was simple to understand
in shapeless colours
which could mean anything,
left to imagination
and voices had a life of their own
connected only to scents and perfumes.
Once I did see the stripes between bricks,
the individual leafs on branches
and actual faces of relatives
nothing was easy anymore
as all seemed to matter. The unpredictable
pattern of cement-roads in walls,
the telling movement inside Autumn tree tops,
the way wrinkles fold and relax, matters.
The problems of dealing with others
begin when you can see their hidden intentions,
begin where it shows that the mirror has cracks
in between what is real and what not.