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Poem


I met my shadow, it was right behind me.
It stalked me, in sharp-edged silhouette
It bore my shape, but evoked a darker hue,
Mirroring truths I’d buried and denied.

In rooms beneath our conscious rooms,
The shadows linger, nap in silence and uninvited.
They arise, get glued to our backs, as trailing capes
Of truths hidden behind eyes looking forward.

Our shadow walks with us, a companion up close —
a slave, a twin, a buddy deaf and mute.
When summoned it reveals what we hide from sight,
It knows the dark things left unspoken inside.

It is a mirror echoing only in black,
It reflects only what light dares not shame.
Revealing not evil things, but truths we suppress.
And refuse to see as what limits and misshapes us.

Shadows are born as presences, not absences.
They bloom when something interrupts the light.
Filtering out the colors of deluded truth.
To clearly show, what really burns inside.

They highlight the parts we choose to exile,
The half-self behind the mask of feeling fine.
Darkness outlines what light dares not reveal.
We mistake their quietude for something healed.

When we avoid our shadows; we misread others,
Seeing their flaws, as those we fear ourselves.
For our shadow is not a ghoulish monster,
But a map, a key to what we can become.

Our longings for relief deepens as day retreats.
As shadows stretch longer towards dusk.
We beg for night to take them back,
To detach them, send them packing to their rooms.

To turn and face a shadow is to walk within.
Confronting shadows with self-awareness,
Making dreams and doubts conscious,
Shedding the darkness with enlightenment.

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