Stagnant Reflections

As I brushed off 
The six week old dust
Off the mirror the other day,
I was happily taken aback to see 
Myself a tad bit prettier, after weeks.

Funnily enough, I had made
The mistake of believing my
Reflection to be me.
Introspection's a better mirror, 
I reflected.
Why does one look into the mirror everyday?
To remind himself how, or rather who he is?
That opaque shard of glass 
Could never encompass
The zoetic surge of thoughts
That have gushed forth from me
Since the time I have existed.

I'm sure, the mirror pities 
It's own lack of identity.
Manipulated by reflections
Of a myriad kind,
The mirror manipulates us thus,
Mirroring us and itself 
In another way.
They thought this opaque shard of glass
Could contain the infinitude within us.
It has only mirrored the illusions 
We projected each time we looked into it.

I am only distanced from myself
Each time I seek to find myself
In that stagnant pool of perceptions.


What good is a mirror, which itself is under constant manipulation.