Repairing “The Mirror” – A Creepy Tale in Poetry (103 lines)

“There always are a few people whom we see, with whom we stay and live. But never ever can we really touch their life. It is like just living with their refection or an image but not really with them.”

To,

All those shadows who live among us disguised as humans.

The Dedication:

The guardian muses; who dig this head and red these eyes,

Who nail my bed, please mold thy bright

Paths, through which you reach my mind,

For I am poor; glided by time,

I sway and sway till you cease my life.

Let this string of words, fly and fly through me,

For whom you have chose the hardest part – to be,

A poet and a man, at a time, which I can’t bereave,

But by thy

Sweet blessings, I shall try to do what I can.

The Tale to The Muse:

Part 1 – The Specter Repair Man:

A hundred years later there lived a man,

Whose face was swollen but in still demand.

He craves for repairs; so he does all the day

What he thinks is sane, but no, it’s not a game.

The man walks through the streets, with a face mild and meek,

Oh lord he talks in streaks, “lightening,” he’s named so sweet.

The places where he dwells, the persons whom he meets,

They aren’t, no, not sweet, but that’s what he’s been,

That’s what he has been.

He’s afraid of no thing, but barred by the kings,

He has woken up beings, whose name would crease,

Our faces with tears,

Our hearts with fears,

Terror, terror; he has woken up beings of clear, deathly smear.

His’s not a name that to use,

If you think of fame and not to loose,

Your place in towns that do ooze,

Hatred for him and his cruise.

Part 2 – The Mirror Lady Calls:

“She has called you in the morning,”

Said his friend and partner of the crime.

“But she calls you every month,

You go and cure her front, but she breaks and cries and grunts.”

The man has stood still in place,

His lays were not openly placed,

He bent down, tied them up,

He took his coffee cup.

“Don’t you say that she’s no special,

I never saw you being so drizzled

With pity over a creature,

Come on Wick, that is it that is so special?”

Wick smiles and holds his hands; clasps his fingers, goes to trance,

“I don’t know,” says he loud, he does know deep so down,

“I don’t think,” he says out, he is thinking deep so down,

“She calls me when she needs, I pick my wrench and crease,

I go down, I walk through lanes,

I knock her door and pray,

She would not hurt self bad,

And I do what I have to.”

Chuckles his friend at this, he laughs so hard and trips

Over his chair and falls over

The floor and gives applause;

“Oh my god, you’re so insane,

It’s like you have fallen for this dame,

I never had thought you would,

Find someone and then brood.”

Part 3 – The Mirror Repair:

The streets are filled with silence, the leaves are falling down,

The feet are losing balance, but the man is growing tall.

He has seen her a thousand mornings, each one with a part gone wrong,

But he holds his self, no mourning, he simply does his job.

The house was right before him, he can see through the garden walls,

Inch and inch he knows so well, he can blind-fold and do a stroll.

He held the gate and pushed it hard,

His heart jumped with creak.

The hinge of door has turned and stopped,

The lady is ready.

He walked in like water seeping on the floor,

He didn’t dare to look at her face, he knows it should be forged,

By him, that is why he was there,

But to repair that face looking in the yes, he couldn’t dare.

She stood silent, before

Him and was waiting for

Him to look at her, but

He was searching in

His bag for the tools and pins.

“Quickly,” she said, “It’s paining,”

“I am so sorry,” he mimed, “You’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” she hid her smile, “You say nice lies.”

“No lies, I don’t, you’re fine and hone.”

It’s not the first time he was repairing her,

It will surely not be the last,

She is broken again and again,

But his patience is never to be lost.

He found the tool he has been searching for and then, looked at her face,

The jaws are broken and hanging, but in her eyes, there was no malice.

Her temples cracked and eyeballs dark, the face was battered like a rock,

The jaws are broken and hanging, but in her eyes, there was no malice.

She raised her hand and showed our man

A broken mirror, which was standing beside his hand,

“Fix it,” her voice so sad,

He felt so bad.

The man with his tools, worked with the broken mirror

For more than two weeks in a row,

After fourteen days, on a fine warm morning,

The mirror was perfect as her fixed, beautiful face.

“Thank you,” she said, while he was walking out,

“See you,” he said, wishing he would never.

He walked for a distance when he heard,

A loud screeching scream and a mirror splashing to the ground.

He turned back,

He felt a crack,

In his heart, for the poor young woman,

But,

He knows the fact; she is someone he shouldn’t abandon.

{I am not able to properly imagine how hard it is to repair the same thing again and again! Anyway, I never tried this kind of a tale in poetry and probably, this is my longest poem till now; I didn’t think I will complete this! I’d like to end this thanking the muses who held my hand through out the write up.}