Voyeur
There are so many types
That I have seen –
Would you call me tired?
But then, it does make me tired....
They think they are safe
And that no one is watching.
So the quiet ones turn boisterous;
The boisterous burst into tears,
The angry smile indulgently,
And the kind metamorphosise
Into vicious animals.
I see quirks in unobjectionable characters,
And in the shady types
A quiet respectability.
But then, the variety –
The hundreds and thousands
And more, of strange faces,
Make me feel lost at times.
You might say I’m a quiet observer
Of my fellow people.
But everyday I see a face
More terrible than anyone else’s
Disillusion and fear
Revulsion and weariness
Jostle each other, and hollow eyes
Scare me, until I realise
I am looking into a mirror.
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