Poetry

 
When I walk into the house
The old mirror wakes up.
It winks knowingly with a big, glass eye.
On the other side I can see a girl that I know.
 
It always faithfully accompanies the passing time
And reflects transience in the shimmering silver sheet.
I suspect that it harbors all faces
But it is discreetly silent and it guards entrusted secrets.
 
It survived the conflagration of a revolution, turmoil of war.
Unstable and fragile, it remembers many owners.
We are together and we catch fleeting moments