Cold in my stoicism,
Frozen in my own denial,
Of a world I crafted,
Gone. Done. Dusted.
I remember a warmth that filled me a long time ago,
Did it, really? I’d like to think so..
When I believed in my own illusions,
The ones I thought made me whole.
Face-to-face, we gazed in a mirror,
And in his eyes I thought I saw a glimpse of something familiar,
Was it home? That kindred spark?
Was he The One to dance with me in The Dark?
He wasn’t. None of them were.
No matter the posture,
The rhetoric, the glamour,
Promises of forever,
I’ll stay with you, my dear.
But He just wasn’t Home. None of them Were.
Tired of wanting to get there,
Tired of needing to be whole,
Tired of waiting to find him,
Tired of wanting to come home.
Till one day I Surrendered,
The Mirror Shattered.
And with it The Lover,
The Victim, The Saviour,
And with it, The Other.
What now? What next?
A New World Beckons,
Paved with Broken Glass,
Did I at last pass my Soul’s Test?
The Mysteries lie in wait…
Discoveries I am bound to make,
Of the world I missed,
Too long spent in the mirror’s bliss,
Waiting for that one, magic, kiss.
Was it all worth it, you ask?
I believe so,
At long last.
Priestess Bairavee Balasubramaniam PhD
Image – heavily modified version (with rights) of: Young woman and broken window-2.jpg – By LennieZ (Flickr) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Text and Graphic Modification © Bairavee Balasubramaniam, 2015