Mirror mirror

When I see myself in a mirror
I see a series of pleas
patched-up together
to escape in a world of
no dimensions; no trials.
The beauty had been there.
Now, it’s a shrine of ashes.

Hundreds of stories I wrote
while growing up
in my imaginary world,
those come back and haunt
through my reflection.
Freedom has a price.
It takes away the voice.

White satin curtain
unveils a window.
Tripping it over with
a drunken stride
might break a heavy body
but rekindles the heart.
But does running away fixes you?
Do you feel ashamed when
you face yourself in the mirror?
Does your version of story ends here?
Do you believe the liberty is outside
somewhere and not in yourself?
Is your lump in throat heavier
than iron feet?

O’ the terrible fear of not having
answers to the questions.
I pack my heart
then unpack.
I reach, I love, I break.
The mirror admonishes me
to bring the old hurt
and nurse it back with
confusions that grew.
‘Love like you do.
Cry like everyone does.’
It repeats until
my tears stop
and saves the soul
till the next episode.

©kanikachugh

Dear August

Does anyone else see doorknobs as safety metaphors? ‘A fist-size piece for different weekdays.’ When an urge to enter into a new space after a fight, or same boredom aggravates, we look for a doorknob.
Am I only one who tries to find meaning in all these stupid things? Because whatever else that is understood by the world, just so plainly skims over my head. I don’t know what the world needs. I don’t know what I need from me but I wish to find an island with no concept of time. So, I’m not running after or running out of anything and could softly say:
Dear August, just don’t leave me yet.