SAMSKARA
In times of sorrow
she decided to build.
A wall was put up
to protect.
For the greater good,
she thought.
But it crumbled
time after time.
A smile was plastered.
A poker face mastered.
Have you seen what lies beneath?
Have you tried?
Not many have survived
to see and tell.
She hides so well.
They say no one has seen
her true face
for years.
The mask has morphed.
Overworn.
Skintight.
The naked eye
could not see through
her
disguise.
A spell can only last for so long.
Once broken,
the true face is revealed.
Nothing is left
concealed.
The mask is an escape.
A way to save face,
run away from pain.
Freedom traded in vain.
At what cost?
She is covered and unseen.
Exactly what she wanted.
But her mask caught attention.
Became a subject of mention.
Her face had gained a name.
She decided to change
her mask.
Her anonymity
she ventured to maintain.
She thought they wouldn’t notice
she’d changed.
But it was evident.
She’d started to cycle
like the phases of the moon.
Certain masks
they liked more than others.
Couldn’t compare them.
Certain masks
she outgrew.
So she threw them out.
Replaced them with new.
“I liked the old you better!”
They’d say.
How to react,
was not something she knew.
So she began to change colors
to match different suitors
rather than choosing
colors to suit her.
Those who would witness
her from afar
would question,
“Is her old mask gone?
Or is it all an act?”
She keeps some in rotation
to continue the conversation.
They always return
to the original,
they say.
The question is,
will she?
