For smiles conceal a pain profound,
Pretense, a burden silently bound.
Behind the façade, a heart does ache,
In the act of pretending, a soul at stake.
Each grin a veil, the wounds beneath,
A fragile masquerade, hiding grief.
Yet the pretense, a bitter pill,
In the charade, authenticity to kill.
So bravely, we wear our masks each day,
Dancing with shadows, emotions in disarray.
For to feign joy, a poignant art,
Aching within, playing the deceitful part.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We wear our maska every day.... the reason unknown to others