The broken glass
Look again at the mirror. That’s me. It’s that guy I run away from…
Whom do my eyes search? What do they want to see — happiness? Ask yourself whether you are happy and you cease to be so. If I was happy, I wouldn’t think about it; I would set my smile free: free of captivity, restraint, and self-consciousness.
My eyes, they see everything except me; when there was time to laugh a hearty laughter, they saw angles; when there was fortune to appreciate my share of luck, they saw cosmic designs. Before long, I gave up on faith and pointed fingers on fate — it dealt a cruel hand. I wish I could see into the future sometimes, for life would then make sense when I look backwards; I yearn to live it backwards.
Ambition cheated on me: it massacred my peace of mind through its unique concept of resigning to the existing status quo — made me seek novelty at the expense of contentment. I settled for a cheap deal — as a matter of fact, with no deal. Wait! I have not settled yet: I want to shut of my mind — it makes a noise I don’t comprehend, and I don’t want to. Funny, isn’t it? The very mind that I ardently sought to expand, I want to shut it off in a closet, praying for it to shrink.
Our life starts with such pomp and grandeur, replete with such possibilities. Then somewhere in that path of nourishing ourselves, we lose interest in how those things that started with such potential will end: we forget the joy of living and cannot recall having one.
My eyes have opened, I cannot go back. Take the mirror away, I don’t like what I see…
My emotions overpowers me, I make a fist and…Kssshhhhk! The glass shattered to bits. I don’t feel anything, senses numbed. My hands, blood ran in rivulets down them, many a tears wiped away, firmly clutched a broken piece. Is it a salvation, for remorse knew no bounds?
I see in that fragmented piece, the entire history of me, what I would have loved to see years ago. There was a chance, or is it still there?
I close my eyes. I cannot see but can sense. Through small gestures and reciprocity I could have build my world. The world treated me in the way I treated it back. Only if…! That is my story, of ifs and ifs. They say there is no looking back. Do they see what I see now, the broken glass?
