If I could burn my regrets banishing them in ashes all that remains of multicoloured masks of malicious traces that scurry across my mind If I could exorcise my expectations masking modest achievements lifting off those gnashing teeth that nibble doubt and close upon the present If I could mask my pain and, bearing it, see suffering as the unfriendly neighbour with whom I need not mix but simply greet occasionally in the road If I could conquer my disappointment replace the wrapping paper to prepare the gift of learning the next step up or down demasking the dark, for light: I would sit down with them, welcome all into my home for a cup of tea occasionally showing my collection of masks and after cordial conversation politely show them the door.
