We make so many allusions to ‘life’,
calling it a journey,
through tempests and calm sunny days,
and often a tale in a book,
with its sea of characters and shades of grey.
I add another one,
for life is one long masquerade ball,
and the masks never come off,
so while we go fooling all,
we are each nearing perfection,
the masters of camouflage,
our own selves we do enthrall,
like a temptress,
the mistress of seduction.
One long parade of pretentious men and women,
feigning benevolence and malice alike,
dancing to tunes in our minds,
joining others in close proximity.
And if perchance the mask falls off,
they will talk, laugh, sneer and jeer,
and leave us alone,
singular in a deprived vicinity.
We love being,
objects of desire, attention and obsession,
stay mysterious to the rest of our own.
And while each one of us would want to throw away faces,
For our partners,
would still wear a pretext.
And beneath a mask though we must seek,
we can never do it,
and we couldn’t.