A mirror, buried

Left at my doorstep—
A Mirror,
Wrapped in needless layers of cheap bubble wrap,
Sans a sender’s name; smelt of burning embers

A script, indecipherable, carved onto its wooden frame(My maid said, “language of the poor, Sir”):
It left permanent red marks on anyone who touched it, for the frame was Daubed in a wet Vermilion—never dried

I put it up in a corner
“It’s strange,” they said, “negative; get rid of of it.”
The reflected image was never a likeness
Like a shatter-glass, it presented:
A composite of me
Many likenesses of a singularity
The mirror—studied its object!

The reflections:
Disconcerting, true depictions
Peeled through all the bull shit
Never a pleasant experience

One night,
In the dark’s inky murk
When the mirror had no Amo
I buried it
Good riddance!!!