The Fable Glass Poem by Ananta Madhavan

Nostalgia is not utopia,
But it needs no visa to enter or exit.
It is a magic mirror with hinged panels, left and right,
So you can sit and see your profiles and the features
Of that all too familiar visage, the receding hairline
Or that creeping wrinkle down the face.

This magic mirror is your private tale of life,
You are the sole possessor both in fact and fiction.
It leaves you free to edit or meld, omit or distort
Bits and parcels from unsaid words and rants.

You may invent or reflect what even mirrors cannot do,
Since you are before a fable glass, author and editor,
Sole interpreter of missing chronicles and imagined futures.