The maskTwenty years back I went to a masquerade,
and ever since, the mask has had its place
there on the dresser, a cardboard funny face
I used to hide my own. For a long while
it stared at me with the same buffoonish smile.
One day I asked my mask point blank, “Now how
have you managed to keep your spirits high
even when I’m feeling low down,
when sit and cry is all I want to do.
You never change. You get by
without a heart. Lucky, lucky you.”
But then the mask answered, “Man, what does
complaining do for you? Nothing or it gets people to
saying,
Oh, I’m so sorry! Really I am.
Poor guy! Listen, I wish there was something...’
But deep down, they don’t give a damn
Why don’t you be like me? You can laugh.
When gladness goes and grief takes its place,
─ nobody will guess ─
hide your unhappiness behind my face.”
So ever since that time I hide my grieving