In shadows cast by false pretense,
A friend once close, now lost to sense.
With whispered lies, they played their part,
A dagger aimed straight at my heart.
You sent your words, so vile, so crude,
Yet wore a mask, concealing the rude.
You spun your tales, so sweet, so sly,
But truth unveiled, I learned to cry.
Your laughter masked the pain you sowed,
A friendship turned to heavy load.
But truth has a way of breaking through,
And finally, you confessed what you knew
You tore apart the bonds we shared,
With every word, you showed you cared.
But now I stand, my trust betrayed,
While reputations fade like shade.
The lies unraveled, the facade fell,
Your gross texts revealed a hidden hell.
Now I stand, with lessons learned,
From a friendship scorched, and bridges burned.
Captured by your pageantry
Mask shielded identity
Bewitched my gallantry
Stole my heart anonymously
Such mysterious glamour
Eerie yet intriguing
Speaking to my emptiness
Replacing all my loneliness
Extravagant mystery
Shadowy history
Surreal and dramatic
Ornately enigmatic
Your life a deceptive dance
Role played romance
Cloaked intentions
And social masks
Lavishly concealed
Make your backroom deals
Trading hearts like tokens
With words softly spoken
The masquerade illusion
The ultimate confusion
Love but allusion
Self-serving inclusion
Bitter truth unveiled
Torn landscape surveilled
Love’s victim impaled
Your manifesto nailed
To my soul
The sky was draped in night’s black cloak,
With a sprinkle of white specks in bloom.
The yellow moon slipped into a gibbous cocoon,
As sunshine fretted in crescent-shaped kites.
But the streets today were painted in bright colours—
They cloaked the rainbow in a toga of envy.
Many danced and sang in melodious harmony,
Dressed like masquerades with neither masks nor veils.
The clouds were clear and gleamed with a faint glow,
Since the last drop of rain they’d stored was in October.
It was the music, played on hand-held instruments,
That shook off harmattan’s dryness from trees and grasses.
"This carnival is like no other,"
A lady in red and white whispered to her husband.
They, like many others, had traveled from far and wide,
To sway their hips and jiggle their feet to Motherland Africa.
The hordes of strange faces mingled with local ones—
Each year, new loves are sparked, and babies are born.
Many a mulatto grows with one half of their roots in photos,
Yet every year brings memories sweet and strong.
Pulling me into your universe
Holding me hostage there
Only surviving as caged bird
Teal feathers float in despair
Onyx smile still haunts now
Grateful for future green days
Raping my heart the silver sound
A little cliche amethyst masquerade
Painting purple powerful poses
Hostage of your drug overdoses
In shadows cast by false pretense,
A friend once close, now lost to sense.
With whispered lies, they played their part,
A dagger aimed straight at my heart.
You sent your words, so vile, so crude,
Yet wore a mask, concealing the rude.
You spun your tales, so sweet, so sly,
But truth unveiled, I learned to cry.
Your laughter masked the pain you sowed,
A friendship turned to heavy load.
But truth has a way of breaking through,
And finally, you confessed what you knew
You tore apart the bonds we shared,
With every word, you showed you cared.
But now I stand, my trust betrayed,
While reputations fade like shade.
The lies unraveled, the facade fell,
Your gross texts revealed a hidden hell.
Now I stand, with lessons learned,
From a friendship scorched, and bridges burned.
Oh, your eyes so dry,
Longing for a long cry.
All those fake chortles,
Hollow habits of a mortal.
Someone asking, "How's your day?"
You liberally
Lying with "I'm okay."
Okay is not the word I'd use,
Though it's an excellent excuse
Hiding my aching bruise.
Rotting is what I'd use.
It's my soul's beloved ailment.
No, it's not a bruise,
It's just a mere statement.
Behind a facade of calm, I conceal my pain
A heavy heart, that threatens to remain
The weight of the world, upon my shoulders strong
A burden I bear, while pretending I belong
The mask I wear, a disguise so divine
Conceals the turmoil, that ravages my mind
I feign a smile, to hide the tears I've cried
And whisper "I'm fine", though my heart has died
The anguish I endure, a private, lonely hell
A despair so profound, it echoes, and swells
The pressure builds, the dam is bound to break
Yet still I pretend, for my heart's sake
Oh, the agony of hiding, the weight of the lie
The crushing burden, of a heart that's forced to deny
The pain it feels, the sorrow it holds
A masquerade of despair, that never grows old.
The DNA of Illusion
— is Time
(Thank You, Leon: January, 2025)
Another time, another place…
Beyond the life, in different space,
Where the Sun goes down on the faraway East,
And the Moon rises high above Western feast,
I saw you in a mask made of silver and silk:
Hair is auburn like leaves, skin in driblets of milk,
Soulless eyes, gleaming green – like a moth to the flame
I'm the one who flies straight to burn gladly in vain.
Yes, your visage was spinning the ballroom that night.
I've surrendered to you – with no doubt, with no fight…
In return, at my silly devotions of love,
You just smiled and fled by – swift and light, like a dove.
Morning light woke me up. I suppressed hopeless scream,
Cause' you've fled once again and escaped in a dream.
I wear a mask that fits but feels untrue,
its edges pressed against my skin, suffocating.
The world expects what it’s been shown,
while I hold the truth just beneath the surface.
A quiet rebellion stirs behind my eyes,
the weight of a smile that never quite reaches.
In the space between breaths, I wonder -
how long before this mask cracks,
too?
"Poet" is a word I revere, but I don't think I'm one.
My grasp of what a poem is, could be improved upon.
A poet understands the human condition and is wise.
He understands beauty. He sees it with his heart and eyes.
Sensitive and insightful, he employs just the right word.
I'm a man who at sixty-five, caught a virus still uncured,
whose primary symptom is to come up with words that rhyme,
a broken cart wheel rolling on rocks in discordant time.
A math major and IT guy on a poetry site?
I'm a little embarrassed, it just doesn't seem right.
Yet, inside me, something says, "I want to be a poet",
to see beauty, study the human condition, and know it.
So, I submit rhymes, I call poems, somewhat shyly,
hoping my masquerade's not caught, and I place highly.
It's not you
that I miss.
No, not you.
I thought I knew
your twinkling eyes,
your warm embrace,
your words of love.
The false memory
of you remains here,
in my thoughts and dreams.
I miss the person
you put on for me.
On the outside of the pipeline
By the end of the occult session
You see: a carousel!
Of colours and threads woven through time,
Yarn spun with tribal glaze,
Maestro wielding the show of the Swan!
A Masquerade?
Or just another puppet show?
The meaning or distinction gone.
A masquerade party
ever since 2005
The hosts floated balloons
partygoers thrived
The masks ripped off now
Jews beheaded and raped
by those who disavow
that they're half-human
~ half-ape
An eerie feeling grips, goose
pimples
A sign of the fear present in
people
The dread of the green leaved
masquerade
On the grounds our ancestors
strode
It's a place where mortals and spirits
couple.
(Written on the 25th June, 2015)
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