Looking into the mirror,

Was struck with terror,

There, a reflection of an aged,

His life, dull and faded,

For a moment, was horrified,

Couldn’t move, was stupefied,

Is the mirror deceptive?

Or mind is being imaginative?

The reflection had dark circles,

Was nothing but wrinkles,

Hairs in a mess,

Wore a torn dress,

Unshaven and balding,

Image was agonizing,

Future was staring at the present self,

Such a thing was far from belief,

Aye, the soul has grown old,

Now weak and not so bold,

How could one forget sorrows,

Like, being struck with arrows,

Disparagement caused by them,

Lingers, pesters, causes bedlam,

Never uttered a word,

How sufferings be described,

Were put to much grief,

Of which, no relief,

There is no peace from pain,

Tried to sleep, but in vain,

A transformation was strange,

Heart found a point beyond revenge,

Down somewhere, a feeling,

This forgiveness, so appealing,

A wish to forgive and foresee,

To surface from under the debris,

Had mumbled about miseries faced,

Now bent, broken and disgraced,

Feel relieved of all wrath,

With which till now debated with.