When milk cooker was whistling on the gas
I met a stranger in the mirror
With shaving cream on my cheeks
And a safety razor in my hand
Who is that man
Who laughs at me when I smile
I have not met him
Even in the lonesome streets
Of my remotest dreams
When I set off the shore in my boat for fishing
He returns with boatful of fish
When I collect stars to drop in my cocktail cup as ice cubes
He brings armful of darkness inside my room
Tell me please
Who is that stranger inside me?
—–From “Syllables of silence” , 1981
