Ugly mirror

All you wanted to be

was one those girls;

the ones whose lips hang

pouting from their lovely

pointed chins-

ever ready to kiss;

and their hairs always tangled

in midnight wind

calling them astray and hearts to disarray,

but gladly forgiven

because their cheeks burn too red;

whose bodies so delicate,

tight and cherished,

and made only to

be loved and buried;

whose tales haunted

every mirror you were reflected in.

You wanted so bad, to be one

of those girls who

tragically never knew

how beautiful she is;

but in the reflection

between the carefully arranged perfection

you still see

the wide-eyed, staring,

clumsy faced thing.


Image by Vasya Kolotusha
Image by Vasya Kolotusha

What is it about the ocean?

What is it about the ocean,

the log stretched wood,

the everlasting plains-

that stills like glass,




gravity undone,

lifting to a cloud?


Picture -
Picture –

The thing about beauty

is that it is up-against the obvious;

it is an atom of diamond dust in a mournful stretch of black and bone;

it is costly, like drops of fake nirvana;

it is mad, like how it is;

it is ridiculous like the men who played music in the sinking ship;

it is a needle of light rotting under thousand years of skin,

hurting, making us children, threatening with never-ending.

The thing about beauty is that it is meaningless-

meaningless, downright love against all odds.


Image by Boro
Image by Boro