A keeking-glass showing the face of you ,

Not knowing what hidden inside you .

It can’t ask , can’t say , can’t pretend

It can only particulate you ,

Perhaps intentionally or unintentionally .

Sometimes rubies glee ;

When it comes across a tidy magnanimous person ,

The stupid mirror unleashes an elated chuckle .

When a black face stands up in front of it ,

It also chuckles .

Again and again proving the harmony

Of “no separation”.

If you try to get a hold of the hands of your mirror image ,

With your own hands

You can’t .

Here comes the silent allusion –

What you can see you may not touch ,

You may not feel its entity !

In the world of variabilities

A keeking-glass is constant .

Orbs may differ ,

But the glass won’t replace you with me .

Oh magical paradigm !

You bag tidbits of every household

And metaphors of lives !

The hush of night is broken.
From the ebony of fields crickets are romping.
Flying night seems sunken.
And all the glees are going.

At the same time a draped rug is silencing the nip ,
To hold the grip.

In an uncannily gloomy night
the eyes are blazing in glittering drops
And there is no one who mops.

The ears were vigilant in the bugle of train;
But disillusions ran in a trail.