Mock Epic: The Crown Of The Looking Glass Poem by ashok jadhav

Sing, O Mirror, oracle of shine,
Whose silvered depths proclaim the world's deceit,
Of Vanity, high-born in mortal hearts,
And Self-Importance, strutting lord of breath.
At dawn she rose before the timid sun,
For beauty waits not on the clock of men.
She faced the glass—a temple smooth and cold—
And bowed, then smiled, then bowed again, in awe.
The Mirror answered with obedient grace,
Repeating praise she longed to hear as truth.
Her hair became a battlefield of will:
Each strand a rebel needing firm command.
The Comb marched through like disciplined troops,
While Spray descended—mist of frozen law.
The Face was painted, bannered, armoured bright,
Prepared to conquer glances on the street.
Clad now in robes that whispered, "Look at me, "
She stepped outside, convinced the world would pause.
She walked as if the earth itself took notes,
And time delayed its steps to mark her path.
Each passing soul became a lesser star,
Each gaze—imagined—proof of destiny.
He too appeared, her brother in the craft,
Lord Self-Importance, puffed with grave advice.
He spoke of matters no one asked him on,
Explaining life with thunder in his tone.
He nodded wisely at his every word,
Applauding thoughts that echoed from his mouth.
Together they convened the court of pride,
Where trivial deeds were crowned as mighty feats.
A compliment became a sacred hymn;
A silence, proof of envy or of fear.
Critique was treason, doubt a vulgar crime,
For greatness, surely, needed no review.
But lo! A wind arose—unplanned, unkind—
Disheveling hair, disturbing noble poise.
A yawn escaped, a mirror stayed at home;
The crowd walked on, oblivious and free.
Thus Vanity stood shaken, briefly bare,
And Self-Importance shrank without applause.
So learn this truth, O Reader wise in laughs:
The crown that lives in glass is light and thin.