Chittaranjan Dash, Delhi, 10 November 2024
In the dark room
All alone to yourself
What words of soliloquies you shout
Bereft of your masks.
Your show of grandiose
Bordering on perfection almost Lordly truth
Now you are an angel without her wings
A vulnerable mass of existential flesh.
Clothed in transparency of your soul
Awash with tears of your pain
Something strange from mirror winks
Yet an umbilical familiarity is pronounced.
Freedom is painful
An escape is the only clue
A tunnel vision is a procession of masquerade
You lovingly touch your mask.
