My reflection,
A kohl-kissed spellbinder,
crafting illusions tender,
hiding the grief,
in a veil of perfected appeal,
whenever I dare to seek my true self
the unknown girl is ever present
in this hall of distorted jest,
greeting me with a mocking plea,

My reflection,
a mirage of truth,
staring back with eyes of youth,
every time I peep inside
it tries to show me the days of yore
never knowing when senescence tiptoed in
from the backdoor,

But still my reflection,
gazes back at me in awe
for how time has added creases of wisdom,
with each passing tic on my face,
A reflection,
with memory in motion,
etched with wrinkles, like a map of life
A portrait of growth, homage to both
my past and my tomorrows.

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