Jyothy Sreedhar


The tear errs and drops off

to the mirror stamped on

by the hastening feet

from yore- far and near.


The mirror gets ruptured

with the heft of the tiny world-

oval and embedded- in the tear.

The cracking echo keeps mum.


It dives into the eyes’ dried blue

as shot sharp by the mirror down.

Lightning, comet-like, breaks it apart

proving it a glassy fragile unicorn.


The mirror is cracked-

the borders bisect the self.

The tear is broken-

My heart slips down through the valves.

The unicorn is frozen-

as to live the rest of its death.

Dead silence.