Every morning, upon waking up,
I look at myself in the mirror,
Hoping to find what I always look for,
And many a time I love what I see.
Then I go about my normal life,
And I meet people along the way.
I see in them what I used to have—
The suppleness of my youth,
The lavishness of my dreams,
The idealist-child within.
At night before I go to bed
I take time to check myself again.
This time I see lines, a swarthy face,
A wrinkled ego, a dying resolve,
A weary, complacent lost soul,
Whose hairs gray and disheveled with regrets,
Who asks for nothing else except some rest.