In the mirror, the image that I see,
the clenched jaws and eyes that stare back at me,
(if looks could kill, I know, I would have been
at least ten years dead by now but they can’t!)
I wonder, honestly, what do they want!
What might they have given that I gave not?
It is said that each human soul
is older than the universe;
so ancient, yet so naïve about
the greed and crooked ways of the world!
Will I ever grow older than
a day or two and less curious?
Once an earth nymph came and told me,
that she was in love and her heart
was mine, so long as I might live
but Death embraced me the next day
or was I killed, cannot remember now,
dying has become so natural of late!
Those eyes, night rimmed, each set in its ravine,
what do they hold against my solitude?
Why do they keep staring back at me, whenever
I look at them, unblinking, serpentine and crude?