6th July, 2020.
'Deacon blues' her beloved pick,
Was the one she chose to depict,
The morning mood so crisp and raw,
A concealer to shroud her flaw.
Dressing up was her daily delight,
On a quest like this gallant knight,
Steadfast in her search alone,
To discover new shades and tone.
She spent her creative hours in this room,
A world of her own had begun to bloom,
This little universe of her unending charm,
Was hidden deep from all worldly alarm.
The entire room kept so pleasing to the eye,
Tinted windows showing the blue green sky,
One specific wall held a mirror alone,
This was her life's dearest zone.
Truly it was her most beloved thing,
And it had watched her dance and sing,
But more eminently her means to validate,
The reflection of her glimmered state.
Day by day she kept dazing into it,
New trends and styles alongside her wit,
To get this flawless image of her mind,
Relentlessly her ideas would grind.
This fabricated happiness of hers,
Actually shadowed a hidden curse,
The mirror just kept viewing her masks,
Inner morale voiding from her casks.
One fine friday as she got herself ready,
She felt a whirl and went unsteady,
Her eyes half shut and her body backed,
Hands grazed the mirror, which fell and cracked.
Squatting down she held the frame,
A new mirror would never be the same,
A radial crack and uneven lines,
Just reflecting fragments of all kinds.
Something inside her died that day,
And she shut aside her make-up tray,
Picked up the mirror in her habitual way,
And stared for long before throwing it away.
It was the first time in many weeks,
She noticed the mole across her cheeks,
And many things which her masks hid,
The cracked mirror had got it all rid.
These flaws now felt dearer to her heart,
The only ones to tell her apart,
From those distorted views she realised,
To own validation casting the masks aside.
A Monday morning felt never so alive,
For confidence to fly and thrive,
Opening windows, she widened her space,
Feeling reborn with her sunkissed face.
~ Neeraj Giri © ~
YOU ARE READING
T.C. Poetry
PoesíaLet's all take a moment to look around us. Breathe. Widen those senses. And absorb every little feeling out there. Incomprehensible. That's the veracity of the things existing around us and including our own. We'll try to fathom everything. There's...
