VERACITY OF MIRROR

VERACITY OF MIRROR

There is dust

And grime on the silver,

Polished glass and on the walls,

Of the room in which it is

Forcefully fitted.

It is saying it’s own story.

I tried to clear that dust,

Which were the proofs of my silent absence,

From the affairs of this world,

But couldn’t.

I stood in front of it,

And now my soul was transparent,

I saw,

All those things, which were inside me.

A very low decibel voice came,

If I can live with so much dirt,

With so much comfort,

Then why can’t this piece of glass?

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