Mirror: Massaging Man's Ego

A mirror I'm in an office rest room To treat prides that punctured and pierced are, Egos do I massage— bloated vacuum, Restore back health of a swollen red star. They pour 'pon me their woes with heavy hearts: Take this frustrated back office junior Trying to straighten his career's spare parts, And dream that one day he'd shine as senior— Stuck am I for years in this gutter grade— The most deserving guy of all around, But none can stop me from going ahead, As a mirror I cannot but resound. Brags then a guy forever a loser: Tell me old friend, am I not every inch A winner best of daring deals to clinch? No heart I've to dampen this amuser. And next: what a talk I gave, what an ace! The delegates were floored to float in sea, Look at my charm writ all over smart face, No doubt I'd say; it's clear for all to see. A trainee talked of a book his boss gave, Wait till one day I write a better one And get reviews from all around so rave, And he looked for a nodding reflection. Whew, too many egos in vain to pander, Many a myth and boast far too bloated Like a balloon when punctured, deflated, There ticked a timid heart behind, too tender. I wonder oft if I do fair duty As mirror, not revealing true image, But I've a heart too that feels empathy, And learnt I've, it helps if I camouflage. ______________________________________________________ Imaginations | 07.07.08 |