Mirrors reflect, she reflects, is her reality and sometimes,
as she tucks a stray coloured curl behind her ears,
as she passes her image in the shop window, unreality.
she thinks she is in charge withstanding the test of time
least ways she holds back the river with
paint and powder dams and tiny discreet tucks.
vanity is not for her she lies
and not just to herself but then.
where's the harm she thinks, after all
narcissism is her only fault she says
times wolves slobber at the door ready to rend
excoriate the lie belying the wrinkles
ready to crack the facade to crumbled powdered concrete
out damn age spother battle cry
she believes as she arranges her toilet,
the jars and unguents,
that time is for everyone else but not for her.
no lines in her Botox face but no emotion either,
it's worth the pain she says but the pain she inflicts is not only on herself but on her worshippers too.
mirrors only reflect the image she thinks
but inside secretly she knows the rots set in.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem