When you seat yourself on that seat of the train, I seat over you,
When cunningly you want to hide and peek, I put deceit over you.
When you want to hide with shame and fear, I put a sheet over you,
But still you remain exposed, you do not know, you deceive only few;
But not you, its not new, still you do...
Slopping on, the rainbow mud won’t hide your pained face,
Sticking your cheek with the scarlet lips, won’t provide you, feigned grace.
Growing a beard or lashing your eyes, won’t make you look mature;
They’re just those things, those bleeding things, which a small kid wishes for.
The carefree style, “the chilled-out” profile, they are disguises too,
The lame excuse, the tame recluse, the fear of loss, it grew.
The old trauma, you think won’t repeat, so now you run for new;
You don’t realize, it never repeats, the bitter winds, they blew.
D’you remember what’s still cobwebbed, there’s still your real face,
Hidden somewhere, by the pretense, the fear, by the change which you chase.
I, the impostor have hidden it under layers, hiding you from every side;
And exhibiting myself, just myself, The Impostor, smirking with pride.
You know I will kill your identity, with the passing of time,
You will be a mere structure, under me, imitating as a mime.
There’s still time, but you won’t, I know, hence you’re mine and I, your refuge;
I love you because you’re a coward, and for you, being yourself is huge.
I humour you. I mock you. I dare you, if you can rise from my work of illusion,
And then I’ll part with you, and find someone, for my work here will be done.
