Mirror Poems

Popular Mirror Poems
Presents From My Aunts In Pakistan
by Moniza Alvi

They sent me a salwar kameez
      &nb sp;     peacock-blue,
                 & nbsp; and another
   glistening like an orange split open,
embossed slippers, gold and black
      &nbs p;     points curling.
   Candy-striped glass bangles
      &n bsp;     snapped, drew blood.
   Like at school, fashions changed
      &n bsp;     in Pakistan -

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The Old Pond
by Matsuo Basho

Following are several translations
of the 'Old Pond' poem, which may be
the most famous of all haiku:

Furuike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto

- Basho


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A Display Of Mackerel
by Mark Doty

They lie in parallel rows,
on ice, head to tail,
each a foot of luminosity
barred with black bands,
which divide the scales'
radiant sections

like seams of lead
in a Tiffany window.
Iridescent, watery

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The Bruise Of This
by Mark Wunderlich

The night I woke to find the sheets wet from you,
like a man cast up on the beach,
I hurried you off to the shower to cool you down,

dressed you, the garments strict and awkward in my hands,
and got you into a taxi to the hospital,
the driver eyeing us from his rearview mirror--

The blue tone of the paging bell,
the green smocks, metal beds,

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Rise, Lovers
by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

Rise, lovers, that we may go towards heaven; we have seen this world, so let us go to that world.
No, no, for thought these two gardens are beautiful and fair, let us pass beyond these two, and go to that Gardener.
Let us go prostrating to the sea like a torrent, then let us go foaming upon the face of the sea.
Let us journey from this street of mourning to the wedding feast, let us go from this saffron face to the face of the Judas tree blossom.
Trembling like a leaf and twig from fear of falling, our hearts are throbbing; let us go to the Abode of Security.
There is no escape from pain, since we are in exile, and there is no escape from dust, seeing that we are going to a dustbowl.
Like parrots green of wing and with fine pinions, let us become sugar-gatherers and go to the sugar-bed.
These forms are signs of the signless fashioner; hidden from the evil eye, come, let us go to the signless.
It is a road full of tribulation, but love is the guide, giving us instruction how we should go thereon;
Though the shadow of the king’s grace surely protects, yet it is better that on that road we go with the caravan.

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Recent Mirror Poems
Mirror, Please Be Kind
by Injamam Eram

I usually avoid looking in the mirror,
As it reminds me of the duality that I nurture.
While my reflection constantly agonizes,
Here, I try hard to come off as gentle and composed.
I comb my hair, singing old songs, preparing to present myself to the world,
But in the reflection, I see my hair reaching down to my throat, wrapping around my neck, and then choking me,
Muting all the voices I want to make.
My eyes drip blood that flows right into my mouth, making me gallop in all my sadness,
And I selectively hide.
I am always short of words to explain my melancholy,

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A Black Smile
by Hébert Logerie

Don’t smile with me if you don’t want to
Because I am not a mirror
Don’t be like a bluffer who gives me a black smile
A strange, nervous and abnormal smile
Because I am not a josher
Show me the genuine emotions of you
Give me something normal or natural
I am not asking for anything special
Just be yourself and I will appreciate it
Don’t give something unusual and vile

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The Infinity Mirror
by Misha Cayne

THE INFINITY MIRROR

Read it as a poem where the mirror is personfied as the artist. So you have to decide for yourself who is she/he/it and what is my relationship to the mirror as an artist personified.
Also as a poem about schizophrenia where the voices are imagined as images or ideas reflected back, and language is also reflected back. Also a stream of consciousness poem.




The Infinity Mirror
Reminiscent of a dream:

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Mirror
by Taylor CoolBeans

I look into my mirror, the same mirror I look in every day
I am so scared to meet my own eyes, but I can't help to do so
The dread I feel as I stare into my own eyes
My cold blank dead eyes

I feel as though, at that moment, I can't run from myself
I finally have to face who I am
I feel as if I'm forced to look deep into who I am
In my forced self-recollection, I question who I even am


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apathy
by Grace McDonough

I am kind of this perpetually tired
Sack of flour
I’ve been staring at the walls for hours
All I am full of is nothing
And it sounds pretty dramatic
But when i’m fulfilled, there’s no room for sadness
There’s no madness
I feel fine (if fine is the absence of anything)
I feel tired
All the time

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