Self In Shards

By Angela John

I gained life through a mirror.

It wasn’t when my mother named me with love.

It wasn’t when my father kissed me first.

But I was born when I realised myself —

through the reflection of mine in a broken mirror.

My likeness was shattered into shards,

and it cast itself into shape during nightfall.

The light of the day was an abstract of time spent;

it owned imperfections and silence whole —

yet, as the sun declined, darkness became my name.

For I had perished in the past; the present was unknown,

and never did I deserve to dream of the future.

Every dawn began with a scar of time lapsed.

None taught me how to treasure the present —

nor to imagine a future in my sleep.

I was born when I realised myself —

a puppet bound by the ropes of cruelty and greed,

seized by this selfish, aging world.

By Angela John