The Face

The soforific summer has decided to take leave for the year. It has started withdrawing its presence in all forms from nature. The intense scorching summer heat has subsided and instead colder winds blow from the north. The leaves have started fading its natural gold. The mornings are moist with cold crisp air that seems to cajole you back to the bed. The mirrors are fogged while I stand at its front in my bathroom. As I look into the mirror, a solemn, forlorn and forsaken face glares at me as though to say I haven’t been on good tracks for long. I try to smile but what I see on the mirror is just stretched lips with it saying me “Go, you darn thing. Live your servitude life.” I take a palm full of water and haul at it. The mirror is flushed and the water descends down to the base of the mirror but the face with deliberately stretched lips stays. It moves while I move. Its eyes are sullen, buried deep in the skull. Eyes shadowed and bounded by darkened skin. The cheekbones protruded. The nose dominantly the chief feature. The cheeks fleshless with pecks of beard confused whether to grow or not. But among all, the eyes are worth staring at. It’s perturbed and shines in nervousness. It’s fragile and weak. Feeble. But it has a lot of tale to tell. It has seen things beyond comprehension. In its vastness was pervaded the deepest of secrets, regrets and myriad of other feelings. Truly it was said, he thought, eyes are the windows to soul.