“Right, ” I said, “I have the key, <br />To unlock all your melancholy.” <br />“No, ” he said, “Let it be; <br />That’s now become a part of me.” <br /> <br />“Well, ” I said, “Let’s try this way, <br />Tell me some, be as it may.” <br />“Sure, ” he said, “But I’d like <br />To know if I’d need a hike.” <br /> <br />“Not at all, ” I said, concerned, <br />“Your fears are just unearned.” <br />“Then, ” he said, “What’s to unlock <br />If you’re not the right doc? ” <br /> <br />“What’s that, ” I said, quite tired; <br />“Were you not the one I hired? ” <br />“You, ” he said, “refer to some other entity; <br />With us, it’s a case of mistaken identity! ” <br /> <br />Now as I look into the mirror, <br />My Irish blood cries “Wirra! ” <br />And see life of bliss and worry. <br />Life’s short, but I’m in no hurry. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />20th April 2009 <br />Copyright © SC <br />Subroto Chatterjee<br /><br />Subroto Chatterjee<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/man-in-the-mirror-4/
