On the morning when this story begins,
It began as every other morning begins.
We go about paying lip service to our virtues,
All the while glibly enacting a multitude of sins.
God forbid that we should think badly of ourselves;
Why, we are nothing more than inconsequential elves,
Going about the routine business of our personal day,
Without anyone to dare question what we have to say.
Didn’t I say that the day had begun as any other day,
Without adding any wrinkles to our brow in any way.
But one day I looked into the mirror and what did I see,
But someone else unrecognizable staring back at me.
You can imagine my shock without a single word to say,
As I stared amazed at the sordid image of Dorian Gray.
How can my trusted mirror produce this fiendish devil,
Disgusting to behold and corrupted to its lowest level.
What can it mean that the face has turned sour and gray,
As if all the evils of the world have been mine to pay.
With no true sense of remorse but only total revulsion,
A seeming willingness to be evil as a viable compulsion.
My tender heart skipped a beat, then another and another;
Surely I am not responsible for that committed by some other.
Oh sure I lie, cheat, play the false card, and hold up the mask;
All the while giving every appearance of being up to the task.
After all, we humans boast of intelligence and cognitive skills;
When it comes to the other species, we sit on top of the hills.
Then there is the question of free will and what it may mean;
Sometimes we want the wrong thing; we are not what we seem.
We expect the truth from others; that’s why we trust the mirror;
We do not expect to look into the mirror to be struck with terror.
How then to erase the wrong-doings of what we have done;
The misery, the ingratitude, treachery and lies we have spun.
How then to repaint the sordid picture we see in the mirror,
The grotesque human image of Dorian Gray into something purer.
Human resolutions are fine when we commit them to hold fast,
Not say one thing and do another as we have done in the past.
The human face contains the image drawn from who we are,
The deeds we have accomplished and liberties taken too far.
Let us follow the noble farmer turning the earth with his plough,
Let us honor the honest winkles we did earn across our brow.
in other words, all these Dorian's severe trials of the soul boil down to as follows:
He who uses only the sight of his eyes
Is acted on by what he sees; it is insight
And intuition of the spirit that give assurance
Of what we truly are in front of the mirror.
P.S. I've liked your surfing on the surface last time much more ;))
Cheers, alex
Oh, what a somber picture you paint of your countenance! Shakespeare would be pleased. But I am not, because the few photos that I've seen of you, un-retouched, show you of the age of wisdom and kindly gentleness of a teacher and not a tyrant.
As far as wrinkles on my brow, my father had them in spades. And my mother got them when she playfully, "wiggled her ears," for our enjoyment--actually just moving her scalp back and forth where her ears are attached.
So, I have had deep furrows in my brow all my life and they are no more pronounced now than before. But you use the word, "wrinkles," which are an entirely different thing, primarily based on aging of the skin. But then, so are ugly liver spots! ;-)
In conclusion, I think you're mixing up aging with being an ugly image in the mirror. Aging is good. Aging is wise. Aging is not an ogre hiding in the mirror to look back at you. Of course, unless you are hung over or have regrets. ;-)
Eh . . . There is a bit of Dorian Gray in most of us I feel. Humans are complex creatures and are prone to make mistake after mistake. Lying to, and cheating our fellow man to further our own sometimes misguided ways. Even so I can honestly say when I look in the mirror I just see what has become of my physical being, not the "sordid being" of Dorian Gray. I am a contented and happy man in these, my last years of life.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
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He who uses only the sight of his eyes
Is acted on by what he sees; it is insight
And intuition of the spirit that give assurance
Of what we truly are in front of the mirror.
P.S. I've liked your surfing on the surface last time much more ;))
Cheers, alex
As far as wrinkles on my brow, my father had them in spades. And my mother got them when she playfully, "wiggled her ears," for our enjoyment--actually just moving her scalp back and forth where her ears are attached.
So, I have had deep furrows in my brow all my life and they are no more pronounced now than before. But you use the word, "wrinkles," which are an entirely different thing, primarily based on aging of the skin. But then, so are ugly liver spots! ;-)
In conclusion, I think you're mixing up aging with being an ugly image in the mirror. Aging is good. Aging is wise. Aging is not an ogre hiding in the mirror to look back at you. Of course, unless you are hung over or have regrets. ;-)
Ron
Love ya!
Jane
I love this! And,'The Picture of Dorian Gray' ~ A favourite!
Pearls of wisdom throughout your poem... Especially love:
'The human face contains the image drawn from who we are,
...
Let us honor the honest winkles we did earn across our brow.'
My most recent poem has a similar message... Love the synchronicity!
_/|\_