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Anisah Apr 2018
When I was one I looked into the mirror,
I saw a blank canvas,
Begging for paint to ink the surface
And etch deep into itself.
I remember the hope of opportunities
When I realized what I’ll be.
I’ll be whatever I want to be,
And maybe more.

When i was three I looked into the mirror,
All I saw was a wide smile,
It was warm and comforting.
Maybe I miss that smile a bit.
I contemplate the joy,
Joy that steamed from fear
Of hate that I overcame.
It has always been my proudest moment.

When I was five I looked into the mirror.
I saw the excitement in my eyes,
Anticipating the first day of school,
With a curiosity not seen.
It was almost as obvious
As when I first told a story.
Nothing was able to beat the jubilation
Of my very own world.

When I was thirteen I looked into the mirror,
the picture was too distorted to see.
Sometimes I thought I could sense
a hint of that smile I used to have
Other times, the mirror waterfalled,
Reflecting all the self worth I felt.
My heart dropped to my stomach,
The waterfall was bare.

Now I am seventeen I look into the mirror
I see a crossroads with two paths,
one lit up with starlight,
tempting me with the universe ahead.
I can hear the thud of my excitement,
- it beats ferociously.
I can feel a tingling sensation
- the regret of the other road.

When I am twenty five, I’ll look into the mirror.
I want to see the independence,
Of a young woman,
Learning what I passion for.
I want to see a beauty,
In the thirst for knowledge,
And the drive for time
Pushed along in every country that I visit.

When I am fourty-two I’ll look  into the mirror.
I want to see a family,
So light-hearted, cosy and fun.
A house unlike the one I grew up in.
I want to bathe in the warmth of the sun,
As laughter echoes in the air
Coaxed from my heart
From the melodies that make cities grow.

But I wait for the day when I’ll look into the mirror,
And barley give it a second glance.
Because I’ll know how fruitless it is.
There is nothing that a mirror can tell me that I don’t already know.
Even if I look and the image is distorted,
Or faded from the withering of the seams,
I wait for when I’ll know it’s okay.
Because an image is the only thing I see.
-Anisah Mariah
The stages of life, how I feel each time I look into a mirror.
Aiswarya Dec 2016
It’s exquisite on its own,
It plays with you, uniquely at each stage of life,
Form the second you were born to your very, last… breath.

My first breath- out of my mother’s belly,
The fear- that it would be the first and last.

On the first day of pre-school,
The fear- of leaving my parents behind.

The first day of elementary school,
The fear- of boys.

First day of high school,
The fear- of being lonely,
And then,
The worst of all,
The first crush,
The fear- of being crushed.
The fear- of not being tall enough,
Not thin enough,
Not hot enough,
Just not enough,
Not enough,
Not enough for him; to love you  
Just then you’ll realise,
It is not something that should be cried over because,
It is just, not…worth,
But it’s too late,
Isn’t it?
By that time,
Your heart spurts pain; from all the punctures he had made,
It melts; from all those hurtful, fiery words, he had uttered.

Then its repercussions,
The fear- of falling in love again,
The fear- that it will a happen; all, over again,
That is, love-isn’t it?
It just doesn’t give a **** about how or even what you feel?
It’s just selfish- just, like the ones who you end up falling in love with,
And despite all,
You will still fall for him!
You will drown in his flattery words,
And comfort your cold heart from the warmth of his skin,
And kiss him- till you can taste his soul,
Every single day, and night.

The awful fear,
Oh My!
The fear- of him leaving,
But you will marry him anyways,
Because that is love.

And at last,
The moment where love is expressed without a single, word,
The moment where you make love,
The moment where you merge,
Form ONE pure soul.

Then motherhood visits,
A little something,
That brings shine and tranquility,
An art that represents you both.

And it all starts,
It starts; all, over again.

S S Feb 2016
New being
Brought home by stork
Canvas unmarked so pure
Asks the world to gently unfold

Reaching pushing
Trips over new unknowns
Asks the world to remain unchanged

Listless searching
Bursts out of skin so taut
Asks the world to gather tempo

Collects crises
Gathers notches on belt
Asks the world what it's all about

Old age
Fears loss within and out
Asks the world to remember him
At End.

New being,
Reaching pushing,
Bursts out of skin so taut,
Asks the world what it's all about,
At End?
Chinquain syllables: 2,4,6,8,2.
Last stanza made up of first five verses.

— The End —