Shitakha

In the stillness of dusk, Shitakha did find,

A truth woven deep in the fabric of mind.

A man's weary smile, a facade to conceal,

The shadows of sorrow he longed to reveal.

Beneath the bright mask, the pain did reside,

In the echoes of laughter, his heart would confide.

With each gentle gaze, the burden it bore,

The world unaware of the turmoil at its core.

A woman's soft tears, a delicate embrace,

Held secrets untold, veiled in remorseful grace.

Her sobs whispered tales of errors untamed,

The frailty of perfection, forever unnamed.

Through the veil of her weeping, a tale did unfold,

Of trials unspoken, mistakes left untold.

In the shelter of tears, she sought to erase,

The scars of her choices, the errors misplaced.

Shitakha, the observer, bore witness in awe,

To the masks that we wear, the truth that we draw.

In smiles and in tears, the human soul weaves,

A tapestry of emotions, in shadows and leaves.