One Happy Poem

So this one day, I composed a happy poem

that sounded like a sad story the next day,

of how the steps are closer, yet away.

Every evening he settles before the sun,

he wears a mask and walks silently

looks at the mirror, and says that is me,

says, all I have to do is accept him,

and keep moving on with this self,

and think of loneliness as peace of mind.

I try sometimes to teach him about the world,

of love, companionship and also relationships,

of how magical it could be,

to be in a fairytale dream.

He puts on a conceited smile,

‘as if it would ever exist for you’.

So this one day, I composed a happy poem,

of how he should admit that even I can be loved.

So the next day, I went out to a park, to paint that dream,

where we stood and walked through the shades of red.

She smiled compassion, bliss, and charm that would heal my pain,

yet she wore drops of tears, sadness and nostalgic tunes of broken days.

‘You deserve happiness’, my eyes screamed at her silently,

and through her to the person I could see on the reflection.

Of late, I walked back home, to see him wear that smug face again,

‘did that exist for you’, he knows I’m already been down.

I didn’t have nothing, except for the questions I’d gather all along.

Every evening he settles again before the sun,

he wears a mask and walks silently

looks at the mirror, and says that is me,

says, all I have to do is accept him,

and keep moving on with this self,

and think of loneliness as peace of mind.

Now I wear his face, and he wears mine.

I meet him sometimes at corners where they exhibit the fairytale dream,

‘It doesn’t exist for you’ he pulls her back yet again,

and knocks me into the tram that reads

“From nowhere to nowhere”, ‘have a safe journey ahead.’