Beautiful Things

Browse By

Is that you?
Or just your wish,
I can’t see past the thick layer of dust
Behind which you stay hidden,
Don’t you love yourself?
Coz I do,
Like every painting of my impeccable creator,
You have been gently brushed with the finest skins
And chosen amongst the unfortunates.
Yet you don’t see the intended,
And mask yourself beneath filters
To take away the truth,
And present a temporal lie
That is to die with time.
How long do you rejoice
When you put on that dress?
Why isn’t it eternal?
Why do you have to present?
To be present?
In a mob of the blind.
You try to seem loud,
You try to beam behind your make-up,
Hiding your singularity from the world,
And try to become someone else
When there are billions dying to be you.
How do you expect to be found,
When you don’t wish to be seen,
While a man wearing a thousand eyes
Is on the lookout for beautiful things.

Leave a Reply