In a world brimming
with artificiality, with falsity,
a parched heart pleads,
a sombre soul cries,
to put a stop to two facedness
Sometimes I pretend,
sometimes I speak.
Sometimes I am the stooge,
sometimes I am the striker.
a chameleon in disguise
amid an alloy of ostentatiousness, a loud confusion.
We have to heal our unhealed wounds though
just to flourish despite thorns around.
Accepting is the only choice to ease the unreal
and look forward to better days
as this world is all we have.