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Thursday, January 22, 2009


Of late, I have started using
My small mirror again and again
As they say, the reflection is real
Is that real me?

Is that why I see myself so often?
Is that because I want to confirm
Its me, its me and its me.
Reconfirmation again, is it me?

But sad, I can see something
Not really mine, not really carried
By me, emerging…..
The shoots covering my face

The aberrations; evolving with time
Growing, expanding, inflating and
Sinking deeper into the skin
Writing stories of inflictions

Etching the deeper scars
Oh! No more I want to see
The distortions, the blemishes
They must be hypothetical

Or am I hallucinating
Reality is better as a mirage
How can I forget, the first aberration
Etched deeply…..

When I killed, the innocent me
When I stabbed, the beautiful me
When I wept to fake
When I slept to wake

And this is entropy,
It doesn’t take me back
Time, has only given me a mirror
When it is happy it reflects me

And when it is sorry
It still shows the real me
However, this one is ugly


Usha Pisharody said...

There is something about this beautifully composed poem that brings to mind Sylvia Plath's "Mirror". No not just for the title, but for something in the underlying undercurrent!

Evocative poem, this!

Usha Pisharody said...

Also, thank you for the visit, the sweet note too :) Will be back for more from here :)