It's this façade
That rests in the blink of an eye,
That, when it emerges again,
All we see is the quiet reflection of oneself we all do--
Albeit sometimes, 'tis when a lonely night rides low, perturbed
by the prying moon.

Whereas the other times,
'Tis when a deadly silence
Reigns over our sleek tongue,
Coursing through our pulsating veins,
Making prompt the presence of blaring eyes,
constant hissing of a slithering snake
Shedding its skin,
Recoiling, striking,
And then at last,
Naked against the barriers that deny him the entry,
Retreats to a safe haven,
Taking with it the rage, the façade,
That now disappears in a blink of an eye.

Amongst the many turns in the hallway of a decade,
Lies now the trembling gaze,
Which chances upon a friendly handshake,
To a tight embrace,
To the daisies and lies,
To the mourning funeral--

And at least it sighs,
The arms exhale,
The veins relax,
The blinding temper recedes--
To give way, to pave way
For the tears to pour...
And the wrist to get slit.

By: Shaily. K