By Utkarsh Kapoor
My dining seats twelve, yet I eat alone,
In a mansion for eight, where silence has grown.
Two acres of yard, an infinity pool to show,
But the stillness whispers what I don’t want to know.
My cars cost a fortune, a fleet for each day,
Yet I miss the laughter on my school van’s way.
A wardrobe worth a house, choices vast and grand,
Still, I reach for the gift from a loved one’s hand.
Staff round the clock, a pantry brimming full,
But the emptiness echoes, so quiet, so cruel.
I live my dreams, the ones I once made,
A childhood checklist perfectly laid.
Every box ticked, I built a small heaven,
Worked so hard, I forgot my eleven.
Yet uneasy it feels, though the world sees me grand,
Shhh…, keep it a secret—A bit tough to understand
I chased all the things that shimmer and gleam,
Thought they would fulfill my little self’s dream.
But the dining for twelve, the house of eight,
Feels like a palace, yet carries such weight.
I made a mistake; my list was too long,
I should’ve built bonds that’d forever stay strong.
It’s Christmas soon, houses glow with love,
But mine is a cavern, no warmth from above.
You heard my secret, keep it near,
A fleeting whisper, not for the ear.
Let me get back to the life I made,
Where I rock a mask, a façade displayed.
The world sees grandeur, the glitter, the gold,
But the truth lies buried, untold, so cold.
Beneath the sheen, a quiet charade,
I hide in the shadows of choices I’ve made.
Yet someday, perhaps, I’ll drop the disguise,
Let love fill the void and dreams realign.
But for now, my secret stays unsaid,
As I wear my mask and move ahead.