Sheesha, my trusty old mirror, is the oldest friend I have in my wardrobe, who, till today, still hangs around,
He witnessed all my apparel, those that make me look thin, and those that cannot be worn without a groaning sound!
He grimaces when He sees my first kurta that used to fit like a glove,
And he laughs when my hands in my sleeves I can no more shove!
He has seen the turban, faded with dust from time spent in jamaat,
And he cries at the tears and holes in the mozas used in the path!
He speaks the truth when I need to know my true age,
And he shows the real difference between off white and beige!
Straight, down to earth, with real reflections and facts that are simple,
My trusty mirror can be as delightful as a smile, or more irritating than a pimple!
The only other friend who is nearly as truthful and brutally honest as Sheesha, is my faithful wife,
She says it as it is, until shopping has to be done, then she flatters and colours the ugly marks of my life!
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