You have often shown me that mirror,
In spite of how badly, I have despised it.
Often it would yield to that jolt of shudder,
or that pang of embarrassment on what it had to fit.
I have never wanted to know,
if I'm going square and fair?
And every place i thought i was outta your show,
your goddamned mirror would show up there.
I have got hurt, my blood has boiled,
over that mirror jeering at my image.
How sorry I was to have badly spoiled,
the beauty of that embroidered cage.
But now my friend I'm a little afraid,
about that mirror, so pompously divine.
You see a lot could now be said,
about its fairness, beauty and shine.
To put it across the same profile,
to prove again and again that nothing's new.
I now wonder with a painful smile,
if that mirror contained me or you.
So my friend put away the frame,
inside a vault and don't carry the key.
Care not much now to flash at me again,
But search for one, you could see.
And we shall meet again my friend,
without these mirrors and images to contemplate.
And like old mates, we shall then have a heartily laugh,
Over these mirrors, you and I, hate.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (MIRROR by Bijay Poudel )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(8 February 1911 – 6 October 1979)
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