Brittle Mirror heart

Mirror, Mirror of the heart, Rosy and desirable at the start Holds a fancy image of love, Reflection of a divine feeling from above. And when it breaks, it breaks into millions Vulnerable and weak like victimised civilians They scatter and hide in dark corners of deserted alleys Doubtful and scared to confide even to a faithful pally. And the fancy image held together in the start Is reflected separately in bits by each piece apart. What it once held, a perfect smile, curved like the crescent moon, Now lies curtailed on the floor, completely strewn. Some broken pieces, the civilians, are forever lost, Never there to rebuild the empire after the draught. The shattered ones left, build their own weapons and arms And cut deep into the feet on those who trespass their farms.