Not much muse yet still, but I am doing the mediocre a miracle – confessing to the lack of ingenious ideas. Also, well, I bend rules sometimes
THE FACADE OF BEAUTY
Her eyes pierce the mirror
Just so that broken shards
Could be blamed for disfiguring
What she imagines is a lovely face.
Well, a lovely face it is
For it blooms with life
Even when her skin is drained of the blush.
But it’s the redness that drapes
a glass cheek she yearns for;
Fragrant hearts and blossoming eyes
Are never going to do.
That is perhaps why the mirror
Unbroken, reflects only her disdain.
It’s not that the mirror is unbroken
But rather just
That her beliefs are broken.
Will someone teach her
To stare into the light
Within her eyes?
Have you ever been drunk
On the memory of an after rain,
How the soil snuggles into your heart
And ivies of imagination spring
From the warm brown blanket of Earth?
And have you ever closed your eyes
And inhaled from your ears the passing secrecy
That rages within the crackle of each flame
Flickering by the hearth?
The way the sound summons leaping inferno
Into the darkness of the eye-
Like lightning streaking the night.
That dark blaze and flaring softness
Medle inside your eyes
Like you are but an intangible impression
And the solid reassurance of home at once.
Have you ever seen a child
that has wandered into wonder,
Admiring the mundane?
The way her lips part by meagre angles
As though willing to quaff
this might of life in creation?
Yours lips throb with the same lust
For merry things that could be sung of
Of words that could be spilt from the heart,
And thoughts that nestle within.
I eagerly gape at those thin red laces,
For what fanciful ideas hide within,
Ever on the cusp of escaping.
Those fine little traces are majestic gateways
To the vibrant empire of your mind.
But all you want is full bloom flowers
And bold redness in your lips,
In place of its enigmatic charm.
Look, now, they are all waiting outside,
Wondering what world you are lost in?
Long you’ve taken for a visit to the mirror
So it’s time you hasten back to your image.
But oh, don’t pine for the rose that is dead
In what you believe is a mediocre face.
If time granted me permit
I’d sing you a legacy
Of all the stories that lie unspun
In the crevices of your skin.
Why do you yearn to be the epitome
Of beauty that has been misconfined?
Your power lies within the skin-
Your stories and the way you animate
Your features with the multitude of them.
Why, to me you are dear,
As myriad and intangible
As the ever transforming sky-
Your beauty so quaint,
Ever fleeting like imagination.
Does she see now,
in the unrevealing reflection,
that she is not in the features
suspended in the moment,
but rather in the graceful elegance within her
with which she ignites them to life?
We all are.
I am inviting you all to join me in this venture. Use the prompt given above to craft your own verses.
And oh, be sure to tag me.
© 2019 Sahana Narendran