minus the regenerative

the mirror takes no

prisoners, for it doth

reflect all the ugliness that

composes the present &

very real

you

that stares back,

smashing again & again

with fists full up to the brim

with conglomerated

rage---

it grows back,

faster than the hydra,

whose tentacles lash back

in the face of all

uncompromising

&

stark

reality---

with the ambition of youth

burnt away,

barely noticeable in the

ashtray of one’s fading

existence

&

the future curling up ahead

in a brand new open

flame---

balancing on the high wire

like Kurtz’s snail

slinking along the

razorblade---

hating that so much is lost &

dreading that so much is left to

live,

with all the good memories

echoing like a searing pain that

cannot be cauterized,

yet cannot be followed up with

any newness

whatsoever---

minus the regenerative power of

the broken mirror that

reveals all cruel deterioration,

Orwell’s laughing in his grave,

for the deserved image of

50 is driving rapidly like an

oncoming train &

you better believe that

there

are

no

brakes.

Reviews

[SHEEMA HUQ]

Again really well written and quite a dooming yet content rich poem, thanks