The Last Evening
And night and distant rumbling; now the army's
carrier-train was moving out, to war.
He looked up from the harpsichord, and as
he went on playing, he looked across at her
almost as one might gaze into a mirror:
so deeply was her every feature filled
with his young features, which bore his pain and were
more beautiful and seductive with each sound.
Then, suddenly, the image broke apart.
She stood, as though distracted, near the window
and felt the violent drum-beats of her heart.
His playing stopped. From outside, a fresh wind blew.
And strangely alien on the mirror-table
stood the black shako with its ivory skull.
Translated by Stephen Mitchell
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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Related quotes
Sardonic Smile
Before the mirror
I am here
Looked at my image
It was so different
It was not me
But it was me
Laughed at me and grinned
Stood fast for a moment
I cursed to myself
Not to image
By my fist
Fetched a blow
Crumbled mirror
On the floor
Distracted mind
Went into the cave
Trampling scattered pieces
Fetched a sigh
Not to cry
But to the past
Wanted to blast
Opened the window
To have fresh air
Sun was going saying bye
Birds were flying
In the spaced sky
Like for a goal
I wanted to turn back
To myself
As a new
Before the night falls
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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The Drummer Boy
A drummer boy dressed in white tapped his drum as he passed by my bed,
he never looked at me, and not a word was said.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, was his marching beat.
There was blood from a wound, but he kept to his feet.
As he marched back and forth it looked as though he was going to fall,
but he continued to beat his drum, as he walked through the wall.
On his departure the sound of a bugle was heard above the drum,
whistling rifle shots and cannon fire added to the battle’s hum.
A boy dressed in red and white, blowing a bugle marched passed my bed,
he had suffered a wound, and blood was flowing from his head.
Blowing with all his might I could see the determination on his face,
he seemed to be running out of breath, as he slowly lost the pace.
The drummer boy came up beside him and marched by his side,
the bugle boy stood up straight, and blew the charge as he cried.
Another drummer boy passed my bed followed by two more,
the bugle boy stood and looked ahead, and then fell to the floor.
Several soldiers charged pass, with bayonets fixed for attack,
passing the drummer boy one yelled, “Keep playing and don’t look back.”
With the sound of bullets in the air and shells exploding all around
soldiers charged and fell by my bed to the now distant drumming sound.
It suddenly all went quiet as everyone disappeared through the wall,
except for the drummer boy who played as he stood tall.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum; a much softer beat,
he then looked at me with tears in his eyes, as he faded at my feet.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Unfaithful To Myself (Beware. Beware!)
When I ran away,
I thought that I would stay...
Where it was,
I chose to be.
When I ran away,
It was from myself...
And,
I was not that able...
To remain unfaithful.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
When I ran away,
It was from myself...
And,
I was not able...
To remain unfaithful.
Oh, when I ran away,
I thought that I would stay...
Where it was,
I chose to be.
But...
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
Yes,
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
With a feeding of myself wrong beliefs...
That other people made me bleed.
But it wasn't other people it was me.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
Yes, I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
And I had been unfaithful to myself.
I let my woes go,
When...
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
And I had been unfaithful to myself.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Mirroring
I looked through the mirrors
And saw my reflection
What I saw was darkness and suffering
It could chase any bright life away.
I looked through the mirror of death
And saw myself burning in hell
Screaming out in sweet torment
Enjoying this immortal condemn.
I looked through the mirror of hate
And saw myself taunting my enemies
I enjoyed my foes pain and smile in shame.
I looked through the mirror of happiness
And saw myself in love; Laughter filled my face with these
With these wrongful feelings.
I looked through the mirror of envy
And saw myself resentencing my friends
Cracking their hearts open with my words.
I looked through the mirror of fears
And saw myself hiding under a hollow tree,
Not even He could shelter me.
I looked through mirror of sorrow
And saw myself buried in pain,
Having a knife at my wrist,
Ready to end this game
poem by C.F Francis
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The Enchanted Wood (Part 3)
As the door opened, he could see
the room was filled with people.
They looked at him as he entered
everyone smiled saying good evening.
He was ushered to the top of the table
and seated beside a beautiful young woman.
Her smile radiated the room
with light and warmth.
“Hello, you must be Lord Charles
my husband to be.
I am Princess Juliet.”
Her voice flowed through him
like a river of tranquillity.
At first, he was not sure
just what to say to her.
He stumbled over his words
and it made her laugh.
Suddenly he was at ease
and it seemed they were
the only two in the room
and when he looked around,
they were the only two
everyone else had disappeared.
As they chatted he felt at home,
a home he could only have wished for.
They ate and talked
and when they had finished
the food and the dishes disappeared.
Suddenly as if by magic,
an orchestra began playing.
They got up and danced
and danced and danced
into the late evening.
They then took a stroll
into the garden in the moonlight,
walking arm in arm.
They stopped briefly,
where he stole a kiss.
As he awoke the next morning,
he could not remember much
of the night before
only that he had met his princess
and had a wonderful time.
“I am your clothes for today.”
He looked around as the clothes
suddenly threw themselves at him
and suddenly he was dressed.
“I see you are ready M’ Lord.”
“Ready for what? ”
“Your wedding M’ Lord.”
He followed the tall man
down the stairs
and out into the courtyard
where a carriage pulled by six white horses
stood waited for him.
He stopped and looked around
apart from the crowds of people
white doves danced
pirouettes in the sky.
They looked golden
as the sun painted them
with its warming rays.
Flags and pennants of different colours
hung out from everywhere.
From the Cathedral, church bells filled the air
as the carriage moved slowly
along the cobble stone streets
lined with people either side.
He sat and waved at them
through the window of the carriage
as the procession passed.
Within a few minutes,
they arrived at the great city Cathedral.
As he stepped from the carriage,
there seemed a party atmosphere everywhere.
Entering the Cathedral
the serine voices of the choir
rose up to the rafters
as the Cathedral bells
could be heard across the hamlets.
The pews were filled
from front to back.
He stood at the alter
waiting for his bride to be.
He felt that this must be all a dream
and in a moment, he would awake
back to the harsh realities of his life.
Then the organ announced of the brides arrival.
To be concluded
18-19 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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I Shattered the Mirror
I kicked the mirror with my boot,
Then I finally saw how different I looked.
I loved looking at me.
So I kicked the mirror again,
I looked ever more different,
Just the way I wanted to look.
This time, I kicked the mirror,
Till it made sounds of sharp shattering.
I looked gorgeous now in front of this mirror.P
I wanted to be shattered again!
Post shattering, I screamed hooray,
For my shattered look became me and I smiled.
The reason I shattererd this mirror,
Was that this mirror was my own self-image,
This mirror showed me bad,
So the self-improvement,
Was a happy thing not sad.
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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Haunting reflection's
Mirror
Mirror
I am a killer
Mirror
Mirror
I have a heart that merely beats
Without sound
Mirror
Mirror
I am cold
Mirror
Mirror
I am tearless
Mirror
Mirror
I am the devil in white
poem by Noorie Ali
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Fantasies Of A Mirror Part-1
The mirror gasped as she stood in front of it with her tresses flowing longingly
The mirror looked in her dark brown eyes
The mirror admired her almost perfect lips
The mirror gazed longingly at her perfect hips
The mirror took her in its arms
The mirror embraced her reflection in itself
The mirror ran its fingers through her soft hair
The mirror kissed her lips a thousand times
The mirror bit her slender neck
The mirror whispered a thousand nothings in her ears
The mirror …..The mirror ……The mirror
The mirror left its love bites all over her soft warm body
poem by Leonard Rebello
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Things are not what they seem
I look in the mirror
And I see a person filled with confidence
I look in the mirror
And see a person filled with love
I look in the mirror
And I see a man that beats the best
I look in the mirror
And I see a man that is better than the rest
I look in the mirror
And see a man with a heart of gold
I look in the mirror
And see a man that everyone wants to be
I look in the mirror and you touch my shoulder
I look in the mirror and I see you
You tell me to wipe my tears because Daddy is here
poem by Eugene Robbe Timson
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Image Of Me
I looked in the mirror today. I stared at myself and could not look away. I seen several things within myself. I seen my fears, my mistakes, and my sins. I am unable to see the good within myself. I am only able to see my faults. The only reason i looked into that mirror was becuase of you. There is something about the way you look at me. your eyes are like swords that peirce my soul. They cut me and search me. They have scanned and only found the good in me. they did not find what i found when i looked into the mirror at myself. I wonder why i can't see your image of me when i stare into the mirror.
poem by Andrew Ryan
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The Mirror Struggled
The mirror struggled; reflecting beauty such as hers
Prescribed a glory in the challenge – a fairytale
Or such as like! To shimmer back hypnotic hues
From auras of her skin – how do mirrors cope?
Hoary tales of pretty adolescent buds
Could never hope to match the tomes of dreamy
Pulchritude apprising us of such a belle as she.
The mirror shone; and as it worked itself, a moment –
Did it overlook the hidden melancholy?
Were melting eyes bedewed–? Florid lips imbued
With mournfulness? The hindrance of the silver glass!
Oh! to seek – to know the meaning of the sorrow!
She (with tearful hair, an image out of heaven)
Never opened up her heart. The mirror struggled.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
m irror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I Lost My Inocense..
i lost my inocense
This morning i woke up
i saw the mirror
which worked 4 me as a window
it showed me a little girl
runing behind his dad
asking him to take leave
the mirror said that was you
but i cudnt feel a sense of me
coz i still run behind some1
bu not 4 love or relation
but i run 4 simply me
then the mirror showed me another grl
joining hands in front of god
may b 4 his brother to get well
with her inocent eyes tears fell
the mirror said that was you
but i cudnt feel a sense of me
coz i still join my hands in front of god
but not for others
but my clever eyes cry just for me
the mirror then showed another grl
she stood alone, all alone, realy alone
and the mirror asked me to recognise her
i cudnt find who was her
the mirror closed its window
now i cud again c myself
but i looked the same as her
then i realised that girl is me
i lost my inocense i agree
poem by Sushmita Tripathi
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The Mirror...
I Looked At The Mirror
Mirror, Looked Back At Me
I Asked The Mirror
What Do You See?
The Mirror Smiled
“Same As You See”
I Touched The Mirror
The Mirror, Touched Me
Pressing To Break Thru
Glass Vanity
For Tho’ Eye To Eye
Sometimes I See
Mirror’s Right
Is Left To Me
And My Right Side … Made Mirror Left
I Got Perplexed At Imagery
And I Turned Away From Mirror
And Mirror Turned From Me
Our Backs To Each Other
Exposed Rigidly
But, Both Turned Back To Face
And Touch Same Place, And Be
Contained and Content
In Each Other’s Space Respectfully
We Shattered The Barrier
Between Mirror and Me
Back To Reflecting Our World
And The Same Things, We See …
Oh … Mirror, Mirror …
Reflecting You … Seeing Me …
poem by MoonBee Canady
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I looked into the mirror today
I looked into the mirror today
and I just did not know what to say.
For the person looking back at me
was the person I'd turned out to be.
It was God's Word that I'd looked into
and was at a loss as to what to do.
Then, 'Come to me', I heard Jesus say
so to the cross I went straight away.
For sin had so disfigured my soul
and I needed Him to make me whole.
It required a miracle of grace
to remove all my wretched disgrace.
As I stood there feeling all my shame
I saw that He had taken the blame.
And His shed blood made me feel so clean.
The cleanest that I had ever been.
Yet I still sin in my stubborn pride
and His arms are there still open wide.
Why is it that I always delay
and don't gaze in that mirror each day?
Someone Inside Me
I looked to the mirror,
It still me, only me,
Not young, not old,
Just always be me..
I touch that scar,
Look worse than before,
Make me shame,
Want to die,
I can make it hide,
But it out when the memories come,
That misery, that cried,
Out of my eyes, come to tears,
But it come,
'She' who make me strong,
Make my step go on,
Not to hide again that wound,
But erase it from my soul,
I looked at the mirror,
But still me, look so tired,
Full sadness, no smile,
Nothing but hate,
But deep inside,
Someone scream,
It tell me that 'she' is the truly me,
Told me 'bout the truth and beauty,
I try to get out,
thinking it's just a dream,
Finished in just one night,
So I crush that mirror,
Hit it until bleed,
I realize, I won't live in that way,
I'm a beautiful woman,
Not just staring at the mirror,
But also someone who loved myself...
poem by Kaede Rirunaru
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A real reflection
Why I looked so beautiful in mirror?
Was that indication of grave error?
Was the mirror so furious about my nature?
Was it unnatural for it to forecast my future?
People used to call me as an ugly man
I was feeling so much shame as human
Was I the only one blessed with darkness on face?
Why God was kind enough to cause me embarrass?
“He ugly, where are you going” people used to tease
They seemed to get joy and feel so pleased
This was causing me pain and agony in mind
Why people behaved in different manner with posture so unkind?
No one looked at my kindness and generosity
I used to help poor and aged with simplicity
I never refused anybody and maintained amity
Many may come and console me on the condition of anonymity
I suffered severe setback in mind and most hated person
No one cared even to ask me for explanation and troubled without any reason
Was it to be taken as curse from almighty or consider it as living hell?
Nothing was going normal and time too was not proving very well
Why then mirror was deceiving its quality as true reflector?
Why was I forced to live in falsehood with wrong indicator?
If mirror was the real reflection then someone was playing game?
Who else were there answerable for the total mess and to be blamed?
I gathered the strength and again stood before the naked mirror
Why was I feeling so much agitated in mind with furor?
I saw the face with two eyes, mouth nose without any terror
Everything was there as expected to be in human without any censor
What small patches and black face had to do with my identity?
I stood there as human being with all parameters of entity
I tried to understand the difference between outer and inner look
I definitely out scores them as gentleman but did not label them as crook
I did not try to find any excuse to blame the human mentality
I could well define and understood the reason behind futility
Though I stood condemned in their eyes for being ugly and clumsy
So many painted me as noble human being and drew the picture rosy
Soon I was to prove both mirror and people very wrong in their concept
They were wholly not true to their character and correct
They were to discharge their function as true representative
Who were we on earth to judge His creation and prove insensitive?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Mother’s Mirror
There stood a full length mirror
in the bedroom of my mother.
It could be turned left or right
to see one side, or the other.
Either as you are, or magnified,
whichever I cared to see,
but when I spun the mirror fast,
the image wasn’t of me.
Other people were looking at me,
and not just one or two, or three.
They had gathered there together
for some reason that puzzled me.
I noticed their mouths moving,
as if they had something to say,
so I spun the mirror fast again,
but this time in the opposite way.
I could now see and hear them,
as clear as they could be.
“Stop spinning the mirror, ” they shouted,
“you’re making us dizzy.”
poem by Orlando Belo
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A Family Of Seven
I have heard “The mirror tells not a lie, ’
I assuming myself the gorgeous one
Abased in front of the looking-glass.
I was one but the reflections were seven
I was baffled either one was in seven or seven were in one,
The images were mix: male and female,
They all bore my bearings but deformed and mortified
And bore the signs of identity on the chests.
A reflection had razor-sharp teeth, the front ones quite naked,
Black dishevelled hair it had, and fingers with long nails,
And mouth with dots of blood and bore a sign of identity,
“Miss. Ferocity.”
Another image stood along with severity upon the face,
The eyes were reddish-brown and the forehead screwed up,
Upon the head it had a burnished crown,
Not of gold but of iron or steel,
The image bore the symbol of individuality, “Mr. Pride.”
An image resembling me bore the impressions slack,
Yawned time and again with the sleepy eyes,
Restless she was as if being delayed to go to bed,
She did not seem to have interest except in comforts,
The badge on her chest named her, “Miss Lethargy.”
An over-fattened bulky stout figure
Stood, pressing others with her weight,
She inhaled her breath snorting through the nostrils,
And looked with avaricious eyes around herself,
As if she looked for a feast to be nourished,
Time and again she swabbed her dry lips with the tongue,
The contents of her identity showed, she was “Miss. Gluttony.”
A covetous being stood along with a crown of gold,
Her costume was costly well embroidered
With the thread golden and silvery,
Her pockets were loose but filled with the coins,
She had along a handbag overflowing weighty
As if spilling over with costly stones,
She bore the mark exhibiting her name, “Miss Greed.”
A slim smart, sable in colour stood along, a creature,
She scowled when the other stood beside her,
Black flies hummed around her head,
As gloomy thoughts surround the murky minds.
She was a bag of bones, she breathed out a blaze
When she exhaled as if furnace burnt in her chest,
She seemed to have no pleasure since she was born,
And did not taste a worthwhile feeling except scorn,
She was known amid the figures, “Miss Jealousy.”
A strengthless figure with close eyes stood propped,
Leaning against the wall, seemed to be in slumber
Since centuries, I might have assumed him dead
If he would not have breathed with faint grunt,
He bore the sign of his character, “Mr. Conscience.”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Every Time I Look In The Mirror
Every time I look in the mirror
The tragedy keeps coming back
The echo’s from her pain
Creeping up inside my bones
It hurts too much to remember
The times that use to be
Every time I look in the mirror
Being trapped in my thoughts
Those painful visions
The memories of the night
My mind rewinding
And playing over again
Every time I look in the mirror
I keep seeing his face in disgust
Imaging his enabled pleasure
So proud by his accomplishment
As I look at him in despair
Every time I look in the mirror
Realizing that it’s all over
And did nothing to stop it
Helping her off the floor
Tattooed in a bloody scar
Choked in her every breath
Every time I look in the mirror
My heart races like a horse
Feeling it in my every move
My quivering body shaking with fear
So still I can feel my pulse
Every time I look in the mirror
I realize how much I miss her
And just want her back
That’s my secret wish
As I lay in bed every night
Wondering, wishing and praying
Every time I look in the mirror
The stillness of my image
The quietness of my thoughts
The sadness from my guilt
Over loading me inside
And the silence of my tears
Every time I look in the mirror
I can’t help but think
What would have happened
If it were me.. not her
Welcome And Farewell
QUICK throbb'd my heart: to norse! haste, haste,
And lo! 'twas done with speed of light;
The evening soon the world embraced,
And o'er the mountains hung the night.
Soon stood, in robe of mist, the oak,
A tow'ring giant in his size,
Where darkness through the thicket broke,
And glared with hundred gloomy eyes.
From out a hill of clouds the moon
With mournful gaze began to peer:
The winds their soft wings flutter'd soon,
And murmur'd in mine awe-struck ear;
The night a thousand monsters made,
Yet fresh and joyous was my mind;
What fire within my veins then play'd!
What glow was in my bosom shrin'd!
I saw thee, and with tender pride
Felt thy sweet gaze pour joy on me;
While all my heart was at thy side.
And every breath I breath'd for thee.
The roseate hues that spring supplies
Were playing round thy features fair,
And love for me--ye Deities!
I hoped it, I deserved it ne'er!
But, when the morning sun return'd,
Departure filled with grief my heart:
Within thy kiss, what rapture burn'd!
But in thy look, what bitter smart!
I went--thy gaze to earth first roved
Thou follow'dst me with tearful eye:
And yet, what rapture to be loved!
And, Gods, to love--what ecstasy!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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