I stare the guy, who’s staring back at me,

Yes, I am at a tête-à-tête with my reflection.

I tell you, he is a silent guy, doesn’t speak much,

Has got a scar up his forehead, like a lightning bolt,

We share an interest: we both are Potter fans.

He looks at my clothes, with disgust.

Well that makes two of us; I don’t like his clothes either.

Dirty, raggedly, unkempt – that’s what he is.

His unwashed beard & bloodshot eyes may make someone recoil in fear,

Had not that domed pate come in between and given him a balmy, tragic look.

I tell you what – I didn’t want to meet him at all,

Had he not accused me of a murder I didn’t commit.

No, I didn’t commit it at all, he is lying.

He was the one who killed her, now is blaming me instead.

Of course no one will believe me!

Oh! You will laugh at me, seeing those signs and deem me a psychopath.

Yet even if I drag him along with me to the Court,

Taking a life-size mirror, that damn slimy reflection would just shrug his shoulders

And say, ‘But I am just a reflection.’

The jury would believe him.

And so the judge would acquit him of all charges and I would be left in lurch.

Fat luck! He is not even ready to concede that I didn’t kill that bitch.

Sorry, one doesn’t speak evil of the dead, but she was asking for it.

‘Yah,’ my reflection says with malice, ‘So you admit that you killed her.’

I retorted, ‘I only said she was asking for it, but it was you who did it.’

He laughed. I cried.

See, he was already winning. But I tell you, he was the murderer.

But he isn’t being reasonable. I am innocent.

And he suddenly grew grave and said,

‘Why XYZ, you are a merciless bastard,

And a cold blooded murderer.’

Suddenly the image in the mirror changed,

And I was facing the dead girl.

She said in a sad little voice, ‘I just wanted to be a reporter.’

I cried out, ‘I didn’t kill you. It was the other guy, my reflection!’

She laughed, dark red blood dripping from her face.

She screamed piteously, ‘Only guys with conscience have reflection.’

And she vanished. Then, there was no reflection.

Of course I saw this chair in the mirror, but I was no longer sitting on it…

I wished that my reflection would come out of his hiding place.

I shouted, ‘Stop playing games with me.’

No reply.

I screamed and cried and threatened and pleaded.

To no avail.

Finally, I begged for forgiveness.

But the girl was dead. There was no one to accept my apology.

Next day around when the cops came, I confessed.

Now as I wait in jail for the verdict:

To be hung by neck, or a life sentence; I don’t care…

All I care for before I die,

Is to look in mirror and see my reflection.