Mirror of Truth β POEM ππ Radmila StojadinoviΔ
I strip illusions like a tattered cloak,
Beneath themβthe world, raw, imperfect.
The sun does not judge the shadows,
Nor does the river ask the stone why it stays.
πΎπ ππππ πππ πππππππππ πππππππ, ππππππππ ππππππππ, πππππππππ ππππππ, πππ ππππππππ πππππππ ππππππππππ ππ πππ ππππππ.
I strip illusions like a tattered cloak,
Beneath themβthe world, raw, imperfect.
The sun does not judge the shadows,
Nor does the river ask the stone why it stays.