In my morning this morning
Who looks at me, in surprise,
From the mirror?
A child
Trying not to grow up
For decades now?
A gullible
Spreading his heart out, once and again,
For others to chew?
A passer-by
Persistently knocking at doors
Doomed to lock him out?
An intruder
Unaware of the chasm
His steps are led to?
A frivolous
Throwing pebbles to serene rivers
Whose splashes lash him to the marrow?
A robber
Of passing moments
That only last for moments?
A wanderer
In pursuit of vanishing days
To which no eyes ever aspire?
A reminder
Of what no one else
Cares, or dares, to remember?
A weaver
Of endless dreams
That endlessly crumble into dust?
A soul
Tortured by roaming
In search of its other half?
Or perhaps
None
And all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I thoroughly enjoyed this one...Many times we forget who we see in a mirror and then what do others see? Very good. Are you still searching?