The language of the heart
is silence.
Creation is the echo.
You can hear that.
But can you listen
to This?
Why not let a thrush
at twilight
bring you here?
The light of the soul
is darkness.
The moon, the mountain,
the face of snow, the eye
of your beloved -
all a mirage, a shadow.
You can see that.
But can you gaze
at This?
Why not become
the radiance
that turns us all
into mirrors?
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