Mirror mirror on the wall..

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
I stand before you loud and tall,
Be true and show me my face,
Am I a high born maiden-
or a slave in the maze?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
my mind tries to discern the call,
from the two worlds that lie far apart,
piercing through the wind-
like a strongly-willed dart.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
do you see my doubt no small?
A face I came with onto this marble,
and the one that I shed-
for the freedom of choice and trouble.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
tell me on which land do I fall-
Is there grace in comfort and a life adventurous
or is there solace in the ordinary-
and responsibility so cautious?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
tell me on whose court do I dribble the ball-
of love, of hope, of success,
and where do I fit-
in worlds that don’t coalesce?

“Why must you choose at all?”
Asks the mirror on the wall-
“Is it not a chance to embrace them all?
Is it not a privilege to adorn each mask,
that fits and unfits as per your toss?
How many could bend their mind
and transform their soul-
to see more than a single view
to hear more than a single thought
to smell more than a single flower
to feel more than a single love
to fight more than a single system
to live more than a single life
to accept everything and nothing at once?”

I pause, to reflect, on the mirror’s proffer,
Why do I find it hard to counteroffer?
Is it that easy to belong everywhere-
and perhaps nowhere all at once?
Perhaps there is merit to the mirror’s wisdom
Perhaps a life that unique could entail-
many lives within the one given
and who could question the ways of life
as if there is only one way to sharpen a knife?

“So”, chimes the mirror on the wall,
“Who do you see in my gleaming ball?”
I look closely in the reflecting wall,
the faces, the lores, the experiences of all,
the rides, the sunsets, the fights, the kisses,
the guilt, the triumphs, the hits and the misses,
the mountains, the beaches, the deserts, the plateaus,
the sun, the hail, the snow, the flowers,
the kind, the unsavory, and the downright monsters,
the sharks, the poodles, the love struck otters,
they all shine in the gleam of the mirror- across the room,
in my eyes, in my mind, in every fiber...
“Hmm.. perhaps...”, I decide in the glorious light,
“It is all me...”
...and the mirror smiles “Alright!”

aeroyogi
19/09/2019

Fickle

Fickle thing, this mind when it wanders,
craving for treats while committing blunders,
overpowering rationale, and seeking the unknown,
it goes around and round the meadows alone.

Over the highs and below the lows,
Stumbling over the ledges of throes,
Seeking that one macaw that evades my sight,
Does my mind take off again in a futile flight.

Free-will supposes that the macaw exists,
Trying to soft-land the mind as it insists,
But relentless in its pursuit to brazenly crash,
does my mind defy the will in utmost brash.

Am I really in charge? I ask again,
a thousand times in wretched pain,
What happens, if the macaw is never meant to be?
Will I again survive the rough winds of the sea?

What is this force that pulls me so tight?
Tugging me towards it with all its might;
if the macaw is a myth- as true as this rhyme
then, why can't I stop to save my own time?

What is this belief, that transcends beyond-
the past, the present, and the future bond,
Utterly surreal, and possibly improbable,
should the mind not see the boldly implausible?

I'm afraid to crash, to burn, to char,
as I have done in the past not so far,
O dear mind, please stay still, and hear me out,
this ominous cycle must end without a doubt.

aeroyogi
25/10/2018