The Kintsugi Artist

 Hey, you! You in the mirror!

The wide-eyed mid-age lady,

the one strangers and acquaintances

spontaneously call these days “madam,”

when she actually still feels like a little girl,

what are you running from,

when you throw a glimpse

over the indifferent reflective surface

of the ever-present mirror?

Do you think it is you you’re seeing?

Do you think it is you who’s seeing?

The clay of flesh,

constantly rotated by the wheel of Time,

keeps the shape, yet it changes the details.

Pain and loss break your complexion.

Time mends some pieces back,

while some parts turn to dust.

The Time, this inattentive kintsugi artist,

the scholar without a mentor,

the pupil who learns everything

through trials and errors

made on hearts and souls.

Hey, you! You in the mirror,

it seems to me that Time uses this face

to reflect itself,

to examine its own flaws,

and to celebrate its successes.

Do you see that smile? That is a small success.

Do you see those sad eyes? Those changed when Time was deformed

by the pain in the world,

when the rules of life were bent

by the childish mind of a girl, just like me.

All is here, on the ice of a mirror in which

the girl-like lady expects

to find the answers to life.