Grown older by an year
and a half, the hair
mostly grey, I look
at the mirror, which reflects
a gaunt face.
I talk to the image
deny. as if I am
Recalling my mother’s words.
when I was five years old,
I talked danced sang and played
before the mirror, addressing
the reflection as Beena, another
toddler of the same age
That sensitivity has surfaced
unknowingly, cause being the long
confinement at home accompanied
by fear. Apprehensions drive me mad,
reports terrify, disaster stares.
I look at the mirror, my only solace,
The one, envisage, echoes
a similar sensibility, Withdrawing
from the virtual, I gaze at the sky
where clouds gather. a prelude to rains,