I do have many masks
Which are kept discretely in the dark cellars of mind.
They surface involuntarily in me
To suit various times and seasons.
I own a joyous mask
Which appears to be happy and bright.
But inside it remains soaked with my tears
And is very agonizing to wear.
I own an angry mask
Which conceal painful fangs.
It slowly poison my body and heart
And is quite effortless to wear
When years slither past, these masks grow in numbers
And I am busy hunting within me
To find the real "me",
Wandering somewhere in vast array of these strange masks.
And in this struggle, I admit, I have failed miserably.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem