As I gaze and I reflect
Seeing eyes and being seen,
See my hands, hands of my father,
Though better deeds they glean.
Smell soap upon my mother's skin
By nose she prayed I'd clean,
A mane of mudded lions, preened
from somewhere in between.
From under placid irises,
say "nay" to what it seems,
I'm under eyes,
A child of guilt,
And I should not be seen.