My soul — a cardboard counterfeit

My soul’s a cardboard counterfeit,
A harlequin: a hundred masks, a hundred names.
It flickers through garish photographs,
Defying time’s cruel games.

My soul’s a painted cheap decoy,
In roaming circuses – just props, just sham.
To crackling tunes on dusty vinyls,
It draws life’s gaudy camouflage scam.

And though the grin stays stapled on,
A harlequin’s love is papier-mâché.
When the soul trembles on hollow ground,
The mask won’t let it slip away.

(18.03.2023)