Apoorv Bhide

'Happiness' - Poem by Apoorv Bhide

All the world’s a stage,
And the men and women merely players,
For all of us play Brutus-or Caesar,
Miles apart from the name everybody bears.

For what shows on the surface-
Is mostly not from the heart,
And what seems to be from the heart,
Is mostly, a wonderfully played part,

And the world salutes the great actors,
Actors who successfully hide what they are,
So that you see, and praise, the silverware-
And miss what’s within-a deep, dark scar,

You depict happiness, you pretend happiness,
It be that you’re quite oozing with happiness,
But in our world, there’s no happiness,
Though there may be grief not enough to distress.

For wonderful with an impish grin,
Is this maiden – “The Maiden Of Happiness, ”
Who never does quite settle down,
Though the tip of your hair she may caress,

And so all men do – they long for her,
And strive for her, for her they cry,
And that is how she goes along,
She tempts them, does this “butterfly”.

Indeed, so it is- that none has it,
So some feign it, some seek openly,
And those who feign, wear a happy face,
Are being eaten from within, constantly.

Then some day, the mask wears off,
And sure as hell, equality dawns upon,
That we all have woes, and we all hide’em,
And it slinks away like bats at dawn,

That I had trouble, but I wore a mask,
That he had trouble, and he wore a mask,
That all we saw, that all we heard of,
Every face, every gesture was a mask.

And so we dwelt, as masked people,
And living masks walked all around,
Masks that hid the ugliest faces,
Masks that hid hyenas- and wolves and hounds,

Those were the beasts who moaned,
Who ate into, from within the mask,
The heart – and the soul – and all that was,
So that all that remained was a mask.

Then duly later, the masks meet,
And rue the death- of their beautiful selves,
That indeed, there once lived in this happy mask,
Some emotions-now eaten by ugly wolves.

Nobody’s happy, everybody’s hungry,
And feigning a full stomach is utter foolishness,
So remember, and emboss in your heart,
That only masks have pure happiness.

You can feel full, but you can’t feel happy,
You can feel on top, but you can’t feel happy,
You can feel in joy, but you can’t feel happy,
For man’s never contempt, how can he be happy?

So see my friends, you aren’t happy,
I ain’t happy too, so just forget it,
‘cause all you need is to shun the mask,
And be yourself, wherever you sit.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Poem Edited: Tuesday, May 11, 2010

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