Underneath

Under the dark starless sky,
They all step out of their grand four-wheeled boxes,
In their sleek stilettos, which keep them well above the ground.
Walk into a sprawling room,
Lit by the same color as the champagne being served
And give air kisses to all the familiar but unknown faces.
They look aesthetic in their red dresses and black tuxedos,
Their impeccable make-up and inconspicuous Botox takes care of that.
They all look perfect until you look into their eyes.
Beneath the floating whispers, petty conversations, and hollow laughter,
Delicate music plays,
Charming the shallow and the Dionysian,
All of them loners.
All of them tied up in each other’s haloes.
They nurture someone’s ego,
Just to keep them from shattering theirs.                                       
Desperation and vainglory is all mixed together,
With their perfume and the air.
They cross lines with no consequences,
Forgetting that scandal always has collateral damage.

Under the Italian marble,
Secrets lie like dormant volcanoes.
The sixty-year-old man is just as sick as the thirty-year-old seductress.
But you can’t blame them,
They’re all just empty puppets, chess pieces
What glitters is not always gold…

-Tannisha Avarrsekar