The Mask

By Deepa Kukrayti

In a long, tattered overcoat

He gazed over the endless street

True visitors of the flamboyant city

Were leaving the wayward end.

Merry steps for some of them

They toppled over with merriment

Elixir of life or sort of ale

Something they had drunk

Joy, it sounded like that.

At the end of the street there was a fellow

Drooped were his shoulders and staggered was his walk

“Now there” grumbled the old man

“He wears no mask so he gets mugged everyday”

No mask for strength,

No mask for valour

None for pride

And never for ambition

I told him, wear one for life

Its temporary, he said.

So, I sold mine too,

And snuggled to my overcoat.

By Deepa Kukrayti