Whenever I stand in front of a mirror I don't like what I
see. It's been some time... you feel helpless knowing all the factors involved
are going to deteriorate further as the time passes... the mirror..the vision and
the image. After giving up on the mirror and the vision I come to the final
part the image
These late night when my wife finally sleeps with exhaustion
battling her ever constant back pain, I usually sneak to bathroom to have my
last smoke. And there my critical eye rises... and my mood is so low that the
earth´s core can consume it, I often end up examining myself.
I begin with my straight hair, once my one true beauty, now
the straw that decorates my face. No extraordinary form of vanity can cure it...
The soft dark black has turned old, dull lost its shine lost its appeal. Given
up on life and earthly matters of pride.
Eyes -Window to ones soul some say. If you give it enough
time you can go to the depths of your retina ignoring different shades and
textures. I want to read my mind, see what others see. The smile, the pomp or the
hate , the anger, the regret the shame. I can see it all...going ahead it will
take some good effort to hide it from people you know... people who look into
your eyes when they talk... it will be hardest with your wife... I hope will be
able to camouflage it, if not hide it.
Half way through the cigarette, it's time to come back to
surface. I skip my nose just a smack dab in the center of my now bloated face. Nothing
important here except for its function.. Helps me live...taking in oxygen and
releasing carbon. Inhale, exhale, again and again,
without stopping, without thinking. I want to find something
special here just to lighten the mood but there is none...No history to back it
up, no special feature. Only that it is there, decorating my face and helping
continue my existence with its ever-constant purpose.
Mouth below it is a different beast all together. Small oval
piece of plump rose flesh. Like my nose, it helps me exist. I didn't like it
earlier because of its plumpness my lips always hangs and my mouth remains half
open... but my wife finds it cute so be it.
Beast resides inside those lips...
Being the only way I can communicate with the world... Out
of that small red skin comes a voice like no other. I don't like my voice. It
is not husky and sensuous, nor musical nor elegant. Sometime it gobbles
sometime it stammers..In fact, the sound is so annoying that I can't imagine why
I speak at all. My laugh is sharp and fake...identical to a hyena... like train
whistles, one after another. No matter how I modify it, the tone, structure. My
inheritance is what defines it; voice is sarcastic and hurting and my
experience molds it with time. When it
curses it means it...
Talking -gift of gab you might say was once my passion.. now it is a pain to
endure... and somehow its connected with my ability to hear... I don't talk
much now a days and I surely don't like hearing... if its directed to me. I can
still entertain myself listening to others talk within themselves but voice
directed at me feels like invasion of my privacy of silence. A voice trying to
converse with me is an invasion double fold...
This mouth had made precious people cry time
again, sentenced them of being guilty... had left scars in their memory and always
ready to repeat the process again. Anything beautiful or harmonic if ever might
have come out... now they know was deceitful. A selfish taker in the robes of a
caring giver.
Further below is the
neck now overshadowed by my double chin and then you have the abode of the Devil
- my Heart. You don't tend to see your heart in the mirror it will be too much
that's... where the devil resides.
Interestingly
whenever I reach this point... my cigarette is over.. my wife wakes up and calls
me to bed. Before she goes back to sleep she begs me every time... not to smoke
before sleeping and devils gets another day to rule me anonymously.
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