Skip to main content

Smiling on the Outside & Dying in the Inside


POEM 55: SMILING ON THE OUTSIDE & DYING IN THE INSIDE

She once was lonely and sad,
Having nobody to comfort her,
So she wore a mask that always smiled,
To hide my feelings behind a lie.

She found herself in a circle of friends;
With her mask, she felt at home
living and believing a lie 'I'm one of them'
But deep inside she still felt empty,
She felt like a grain of rice in a bag of sand
She knew there was a missing part.

Nobody could hear her cries at night,
She'd so designed her mask to hide the lies.
Nobody could see the pain and the crying
She's so designed her mask to be laughing.

Behind all the laughter
were the tears
Beneath the field of corn and wheat
were the tares
Behind all the poise and and courageous feat
were the fears.

They could see her everything
But nobody knows the real being

Dawn to dusk
Dusk to dawn
Slowly s l o w l y she was dying
hoping someone will hear her silent groaning

Dawn to dusk
Dusk to dawn
Until now she's still searching
For the missing link
Until now she's still searching
For the moment that'll erase her tears.
Until now she's still waiting
For the someone who'll wipe her tears.

But till then, 
though dying in the inside she keeps on smiling.
Hiding behind this mask she's wearing.
Hoping one day she can smile from the inside out
like the rest of them
and then rest in death.

Till then, she'll be here...waiting.
Smiling on the outside
Dying in the inside.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

Letter To My Son

Dear Son Try to forget that nothing waits in the dark, raise your shoulder high wave off the frea and step into that lane. Won't you rather be gone in there than stay out here playing the coward? Get up now, son everyone falls. #Pengician #SSA http://bit.ly/2haEhoj

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....