Why don't we discard the mask, let all the stage props fall
Why don't we discard the mask, let all the stage props fall?
The answer, whispered through shadows, is found in our sunlight-forgotten guise.
The true color has washed away in the rains of days, so that we no longer recognize who is,
The figure now wearing our face, lost within the deceptive, layered veil.
From the first moment, when innocence played upon our dexterous, nimble fingers,
The mask clung to our skin, grew with us, roots burrowed deep into our veins.
It transformed into a second façade, nearly forgetting the original countenance,
We've identified with the role, into its gentle silver chalice we poured our spirit.
We have wrapped ourselves in the banners of characters, taking on thickly drawn contours,
Elaborate shells that muffle the sound of the sea, the voice of our true self.
Behind this crafted wall, the solitary 'I' incessantly questions, tirelessly grinds:
"What was my former being, where is the chain that linked past, present and forever?"
Thus, we become acclaimed actors in a play we no longer know how to finish,
Where each fault, longing, laughter implies a scene masterfully depicted.
In this perpetual theater we act, sending echoes of applause into void chambers,
On stage, we perish and revive, in the wings we forget the mask that once served as our collateral.
As we lose ourselves behind this façade, the ancient beast of light gradually extinguishes,
Offering only a flash when one gazes into the deep waters of unfocused eyes.
We have become the dwelling of roles which we change as easily as the leaves of days thinned calendar,
We continually wash in the river of forgetfulness, solidifying into steadfast and mute characters.
Behind this zealously painted wall with its numerous layers,
Lurks the enchantment of relinquishing, the chalice of courage to be simple and undefined by realms.
But if we peel away, layer by layer, thought by thought, the mask off the face of eternity,
Perhaps we will glimpse what we once were - a barren soul, yet full of its own essences and sap.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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