Buried alive in an infinite labyrinth of mirrors... I heard myself, follow myself, look for myself in this smooth wall of silence...

But I do not find myself.

I grope,
listen,
look...
Through all the echoes
of this labyrinth
my voice
is trying
to reach my ear...

But I do not hear it.

Someone here is a prisoner
in this cold
labyrint of mirrors;
someone whom I imitate.
If he goes, I go away.
If he returns, I return.
If he sleeps, I dream,
"Is it you ?"

But I do not answer.

Pursued, wounded
by this same voice
---which I do not know
is mine or not---
against the same echo
of the same memory,
in this infinite
labyrint of mirrors
buried alive.