My mirror.

My mirror.

I stand infront of a mirror,
which is as old as I.
It is the witness of all my past.

Still I can see on reflection,
a boy of ten combing his hair.
His two eyes are full of childish dreams.

I can see on reflection,
a youth standing with well dress,
preparing for evening party.

The mirror is the witness,
of my every past reaction,
even my every past emotion.

When my face became bright
or became pale in delight or in sorrow
the mirror caught the reactions.

But now when I stand infront of the mirror
and take pity on my slacking body,
the mirror tells me with sigh
"Time never returns."