SHAIRI 011

The Mirror We Turn Away

A poem about pain, truth, and the courage to be accountable.

The promise lay between us,
like broken glass upon the floor.
I asked how it came to shatter.
You asked why I had closed the door.

I spoke of what had wounded me.
You spoke of how my words had stung.
And somewhere in our separate sorrows,
the truth was left without a tongue.

I do not question tears.
Even dishonest hearts can weep.
But pain is not a verdict,
nor every wound a truth complete.

How easily we seek compassion
when our own hearts ache,
yet struggle to extend the same
to those whose hearts we break.

We ask that others understand
the reasons for our sorrow,
but hesitate to face the hurt
our actions leave tomorrow.

And so the mirror turns away,
not because it cannot see,
but because the truth it carries
asks more of you and me.

Let us not crown our suffering
and call ourselves absolved.
For wounds may earn compassion
while the wrongs remain unresolved.

To say, You wounded me,
is human, raw, and true.
But courage finds another voice:
I may have wounded you.

Perhaps the strongest kind of love
is neither blame nor surrender,
but two imperfect hearts
learning to be honest and tender.

No one must silence their sorrow.
No one must abandon their pain.
But tears cannot rebuild a bridge
if nothing underneath has changed.

So let the wounded heart find comfort.
Let the troubled conscience speak.
Let kindness walk beside the truth,
not make the truth grow weak.

For healing does not begin
when one has won the argument.

It begins when both can stand
before the mirror,
without turning away.

And perhaps the deepest courage
is not in proving we were hurt,
but in asking, quietly—

Whom have I hurt along the way?