I found myself in a clear glass pitcher;
Looking through its walls with famished eyes;
To think, peruse, justify and be abler;
I did imbibe in the preachings of the learned wise.
I learnt to explore the near and yonder;
As the time wheel cycled its way unheeded;
I jumped, slid till the glass got scratches of ponder;
I thought all was forever unfolded.
But then I heard weary footsteps draw closer to me;
A hand reached out with tassels, assortments and mirrors;
I sat aghast with a locked mind door sans key;
I watched as the blemishes on the glass all fell under glitters.
I gazed on, afraid to judge, pricked by impending fallacy;
No longer could I enjoy the pure transparency of my glass home;
I know the cracks still exist but evades the outsider’s see;
It’s sad that the embellishments block my sight with their chrome.
I sit here lifeless as more cracks come by;
And I sigh as more glitters and beads mask them on;
I now exist in a colourful jar so opaque that none see me cry;
I mock this world of pretence and lament my oblivion.
But today I dare to peek out of my jar and accuse,
The lunatic coward artist to have done to me so;
But what! I stand petrified as my heart and mind just refuse,
To accept the artist to be me, my human, that has become my foe.
It has forgotten about its true self, enough to plan my death;
It’s a shame to indulge in such ostentatious show;
My dear human, one day you will, hope not too late, realise your true worth;
That day you will throw away this fake coat and I’ll be able to see through again, learn and grow.
© Megha Bose 2018
Photo Credit: https://goo.gl/images/bpMFRM