A part that I see in the mirror,
but only at times when
I don't want to.
Like the bruises that lie hidden
under my breast; hurts only when
the fingers brush upon them, in rue.

A past that my soul believes in not,
And walks away as far as it could;
It somehow ends up nearer, as if,
was hiding just behind the wood.

It's never going to leave me.
It is a part of me I cannot escape;
perhaps, it's even dearer, as it lacked,
the love I couldn't it gave.

While I live, I live with her too,
a dark side I dread to believe in.
As it's what the mirror showed me,
with some healing scars
and some wandering as din.

So, one day if she asks,
Do I still belong with you, friend?
A remorse was freed for a better life,
As they both die at the end.

© Supriya Baranwal