My Head in His Hands

My heart racing like a horse in a race course,
As I ascend the barber's throne,
To keep my head in his hands...
As a reply to my greeting smile
"How are you sir" greets barber wrapping the hair armour around my torso,
he irrigates my hair with Pickled water,
then unleases magical weapons from their sheaths,
.....
The pair of scissors snips its' way,
wading through my side locks creating Dopplers' effect,
sending impulses through my auditory tunnels,
triggering my fear fright hormone,
His blades grazing my temple,
appeasing their hunger with bites of my hair,
munching their way behind my ears,
snip, snip, snip, snip....
then lands the comb,
on the white creases of my darklands,
Divides and rules the territory of my scalp,
with the 'scissors-comb' Combo,
snip, snip, snip, snip....
snippets of my hair flying around me,
As I close my eyes I pray,
That the scissors do not pierce into my brain,
the snipping music echoing my ears,
the magical comb,
combing its way back and forth,
creating shock waves in my heart,
As I feel this ordeal has come to an end,
Then the soap and lather encircles my cheek,
and oh no my throat!
Swiss, swash the swiss blade in Action,
just over my most important veins,
And over my tiny hill - my 'musicbox', then starts clammy sweat in my tightened fist,
moment of mixed feelings,
my mind murmers silently,
oh God! Let his blade not go astray....

Crossing all the rugosities,
it extends it's journey towards the plains of my cheeks,
Hah! cut, cut, cut ooo...me small cut,
to which the ruling barber never heads,
splashes Water and lotion to douse the fire on my cheek,
Finally he Gifts me freedom,
unwrapping me from all my shields
"You are ready sir"  he says.
I look myself in the mirror ,
to find a different 'ME'.....

                                      Srinivasa Raghu