Round and round we go,

Like a charade show,

Faces all around me,

Faces just like me-

Here a smiling musician,

There a brooding writer…

Sometimes a typical girl

Dreaming of future much brighter;

Sometimes a glimpse of a nationless wanderer-

Ploughing through phases and appearances-

Lost in a melee of languages and people,

In their vividly colourful existences.

A leader now,

A listener then,

A myriad of faces,

A thousand times ten-

A carousel whirling again and again.

And when it stops, and silence spreads,

All I see is myself- a cloth spun of a million threads.

2 Comments
  1. Alias P Varghese 2 years ago

    Beautiful Poem Tania…..

  2. Mary George Ittoop 2 years ago

    A poem which set me thinking of our search for discovering our true self…….the need for approval which gets us wearing different masks…….and hopefully somewhere….sometime we discover/get comfortable with a mask which suits us the best.

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