The Mask

Remove it, remove it all

The act, the façade

What do I have now to gain?

This silent game I love to play,

In the end, no victor shall be claimed.

My mask it breaks, now to crumbled halves

And my armor, now stained and hazardously cracked

Can no longer shelter me from this fatal mishap

And my face so white

Sheltered from the sun’s gentle caress,

Has the time passed been really that long?

Oh, how could this game have gone all wrong?

But I still take my place at the players’ bench

And with skilled craftsmanship I begin again.

My new mask this time shall be stronger than last,

Behind the new face piece, time will pass fast.

Nobody truly knows what lays beneath,

The price of the victor is a burdening heap.

With lost identities and ghosts as company I keep.

At times I want to pull the mask off,

And break it on the ground.

Then shatter the mirror into long thin shards,

Only, there would be more eyes, more poisonous barbs.

To not mock and jeer, I wish to I were free!

But alas, all I would have left is the apparition of me.

For I am scared and weak at core

So I pass this impulsion as a mere thought-

Nothing more.

To the game I return once more,

With the ghostly figure that haunts me so,

Because the mask hides only the surface,

Nothing below.