You cannot digest what speaks the mirror,

and feverishly search to mend the damage.

You blame it for it reflects your errors,

and portrays not your new made-up image.

So you snap, click and edit your photo-

colours to present a different picture.

Camouflaged with layers from head to toe,

hiding the soul but flashing the texture.

You caption this frame to further enhance,

peppered with a sweet voice to go along.

In hope to upraise the societal stance

but unaware where you truly belong.

But soon this drama and dice go backstage-

you call the mirror for a pure image.

This entry was posted in Poetry on by .

About Rahul Aithal

I am from Mumbai, India. Composing poems gives me immense pleasure. Few poetic sites I write on are -,, and, recently Avant-Garde-Writer's Haven (on Facebook). You could browse my other writes on my private blog, I am glad to have joined this site, thanks to Louis. I hope to add value and get the group going.

8 thoughts on “Image

  1. Amita Paul

    Pretence has a short life ; truth is eternal. The mirror can be brutally honest. An exploratory poem , exploring possible new modes of being.


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