There's no such blade
that would be sharp enough
to slice one of one's shadow.
I grab and tear mine away, though,
kneading and reshaping it
like wet clay soil
in hope, maybe
its blackness won't scare you.

From the shapeless mass,
I yearn to give a familiar form
so you may recognize me
from even taking a glimpse at it.
You know, my shadow never lies,
always telling the truth
showing its real face,
even when mine betrays.