Friday, February 9, 2007

Reflecting Upon A Mirage

My mirrors break everyday,
And still they form, from the
Disoriented pieces of glass.

A hand wipes off the dirt
From the entangled roots of
A tree,
To discover more twists in
The circling tornado of soils.

A box of true lies,
A shredded cloth hiding some smiles,
And the left overs of some days…
They all wait to get buried in the
Never daring silence of my
Ward robe.

Time walks by ,as fingers
Run the rally of impossibilities,
They know they would never
Get their pride…

Still they wait and run,
And stop and run,
And weep and run,
And now they are tired.

Eyes seek elixir in the words of Rumi,
Ears yearn for Shakespeare to come alive,
But again….
Some words break my mirrors at night.

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