Through the prism

People around me,

At places high and low;

With whom to shake hand,

To whom shall I take a bow?

                                               

Plastic smiles,

Toned to perfection;

All emotions veiled,

Behind masks of austere discretion.

 

But now,

As I stare through the prism,

It all seems crystal clear;

As the synthetic thoughts settle down,

I see the hidden fear.

The once vibrant spirits,

Virile and vim;

In trail of wealth,

Turned vile men with faces grim.

 

Even at the sight of the best exquisites,

Behests are they dull and flag;

Cause ne’er do they seek the beauty,

But only the price tag.

 

Yet, staring through the prism,

As the glaring lights separates out;

I see a scared man hiding,

Behind the façade of flamboyant pride,

And ‘em frowns stout.

                                                         -Ishaan Phukan