BY MAHIMA SHARMA

The mirror hangs stoic on my wall,

With unbiased eyes…silently absorbing all,

Never storing anything…

Even from the present moment,

Never storing images…

Even from the recent-most past.

 

My mirror, my reflection…

Only shows me my present.

Revealing a brutal, honest truth…

That I am holding onto my past.

But to be able to fly,

Mirror tells me to turn around,

To be able to fly,

I need to leave the ground!

 

My mirror…

Tells me the truth,

That my photos will never tell

It reveals me myself…

In my mind ringing aloud a bell.

 

I have grown older…shows me my mirror,

I have grown bolder…shows me my mirror.

But have I grown wise?

 

Thank you O Mirror,

For showing me the path…

Without you, I perhaps could not have taken.

Thank you O Mirror,

For showing me the light,

Otherwise I would surely have mistaken!

Every wrinkle I see in the mirror has a silent tale,

But I take pride….since my eyes can meet the Mirror,

The Mirror that has been my best guide,

In all the 37 Springs….in whom I take pride!

Copyright: Mahima Sharma 

The Author is an Independent Journalist & Ex-Senior Journalist with CNN-News 18, ANI (a collaboration with Reuters).