Never Is Thine Pretence Thee Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Before he was civil, man lived in cave,
Every one wore the face that God him gave,
Nigh little he needed to cover, save
A few inches of skin, this man so brave!

His life an open book to read at call,
No one tried to look taller— none at all,
Look poker faced, nor played from behind wall,
Loud and clear were things laid on table.

For long they lived content, carefree to bask
Under open sky, tethered to their tasks,
And someone fashioned a few monkey masks—
One each for each of visage to well mask!

What came no more than a fun-making face,
Soon became man's sole face, his saving grace,
And mask-less was like a soldier sans mace,
Or call him a gambler sans trump of ace.

Man vulnerable feels— shorn of these hoods,
Powerless and subdued as if stitch-less nude,
A cobra de-fanged in its home of woods,
A gambler that lost all bets, left to brood.

Masquerading him from Him, from clear view,
Man wonders oft, where's him that he once knew,
Is this, what I pretence, my person new?
Mask has been me, my reality true!
___________________________________________________
Reflections | 08.12.04 |