The Mirror

The mirror always shows the same me –
Pale, haggard and emaciated.
The four sides of the wooden frame
Immortalize my fragile framework,
And I am a deity in my own sense
Surrounded by fumes of foggy incense.
My mind is clouded and my throat writhes in irritation.

Staring into the mirror is like staring into
A dusty graduation photograph –
The camera’s stolen my soul and
Displays it in a silver glass casing for the world to see and mock.
My youthfulness is preserved in virtual images,
As I appear terribly miniscule to the crowd
Of rotten tomatoes, cabbages and durian shells.

I am malnourished and anorexic, the same shrivelled-up celery stalk –
Some sort of failed scientific experiment.
The mirror bears a truth; a stagnant truth that breeds mosquitoes.
And the environmental and health agencies will soon be on my toes,
And 20 years later I will still appear the same.
The mirror will not smile at me,
And I will continue this love-hate relationship.