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Updated: Aug 8, 2022

What life hast thou dreamt for ages?

Look a moment in the mirrored pages.

Whose visage to thine eyes sway forth?

Thy beauty lone views its fading worth.

O time too brute! The hours play'd fowl,

And in the name of senescence stole

Thy tinseled charm and thy savored beaut,

Just so beguiling as the forbidden fruit.

Seekest from the glass once more,

The key to joy and the covert door

To abundance; as thou may see,

Ere thou ruin thy own beauty.

To plough the tillage of thy own sweet self,

Too worthy to be sans a hired help,

And reap the crops ere thy tomb,

gulp thou in as an edacious womb.

Thy deeds must to thee reflect,

From the mirror before tis wrecked.

And unveil all that thou must know,

And those veiled beneath the bygone snow.

Care for days and sow good morrow,

And ne'er for temptations invite sorrow.

The mirror stands for fair'st words,

A bower of beaut or a rusted sword.

© Dipanjan Bhattacharjee

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