Paper Mirrors



At first 

it bleeds so stridently

the ink in steady flow,

unfettering the hushed blooming pain, 

extricating uncertain masked breaths.

I guess enormous blades can carve 

the most imperceptible scars 

but through smudged sentence edges 

and uncarefully spun words, 

my paper mirrors perceive 

even ill-lit depths. 


Then time flew too swiftly, flipping pages ahead, 

past a year on the same chapter with a veiled end.


So now

it dries progressively

the pen wilts though half-full,

declaring all senses paralyzed,

tolerating vague tomorrows.

I guess time-worn wounds can harden

though devoid of any healing

but through the lingering hand

and unornamented white leaves,

my paper mirrors behold

even hollowness. FATIMA B. BADURIA


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