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