As I look into the mirror,
Broken-its body and my soul,
The image that looks back at me is
That of a stranger. The gaping hole
In my narrow layer of security widens
And in it my world is devoured.
‘Failure’- the stranger calls himself.
A shiver runs down my burdened spine.
I sigh. The reflection seems to make
An inconspicuous movement. What a
Congruence I see in it and myself.
Miraculous- both, its existence and mine.
The mirror is mercilessly straightforward.
Never a sycophant ; truthful eternally.
My blemishes never shadowed or hidden,
Never is the glided me neglected…
The mirror is broken- any mild dereliction is forgiven.
Intolerably inarticulate…Yet so verbose….
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