Shadows In The Mirror

(A short poem intended to serve as food for thought for our politicians)

What epitaph will hung

On this icy grave

When life’s final nightfall

Throws you its blind spot?

What chorus dares to ring

In the silent ears

Shrouding the deep darkness

Of life’s last black hole?

What bird will sweetly sing

And what bird will hoot

Will it be nightingale

Or will it be owl?

How can a man’s back spine

Or hair on his head

Be cast by his own eyes

But by back mirrors

As the mirrors cast you

And the sounds echo

Into your inner ears

So will they engrave

You read the epitaph

You hear the chorus

Feeling sweet to your ears

Where close, sore where far

However they appear

Clearly or twisted

Shadows in the mirror

Are cast images.

By: Otchere Darko