The reflection was perfect.
Same eyes. Same nose.
Silently brilliant radiance.
When stepped aside
to see the emptiness
of the glass surface
the image stuck there.
It didn't move.
It was static inside.
It could be seen from
all the corners.
It was not a picture.
The lively semblance
caught on the luminescent screen.
An effort to erase
turned out to be a failure.
A thin wooden stick
also got reflected.
Without disturbing the imprisoned
the replica moved on.
Rather it must be the real one.
Mirror life is blemishes free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Always in deep thought, different.