Mirrors

Mirrors...those clear rectangles that show the present, that make one two and two four.

They see and show beauty, as well ugliness. 

They're the first to  touch upon your image, wihout their own opinion,

leaving it to you to judge.

They see everything, be it the strongest man sobbing with his face in his hands

Or the timid dwarf, standing tall. 

They show what they see, but do they remember it? 

Do mirrors have a memory, hidden beyond our reflections? 

Do they reflect upon it later, and maybe show the happenings of the past?

Do they remember the unseen crimes that occurred in broad daylight, 

Hidden behind a closed window, a shut door? 

Do they catch the glint of the red-streaked knife? 

Do they recall the wide-eyed smile of a poor mother,

Whose son has finally got a job? 

Alas, we shall never know...what they are really. 

Are they humans? 

Ones who learnt to show all they had seen, 

Without holding back?The sour pain of bitter honesty? 

Or are they sentient beings, who discuss the atrocities that they reflect?

Without judgement, without scrutiny? 

Maybe they're portals to a different dimension, a different now. 

What do they hide behind those crystal clear, known faces of humanity? 

One day, might we be able to reflect upon what they reflected?

To relive another moment with a loved one?

Forever embedded in that moving picture of the present, and the past? 

Will they show yesterday to us tomorrow?

Will they?

Nemo,

18.6.2020

Image courtesy: Google Images