THE PERFORMANCE

I have always been a performer , since I was young , ever since I remember 

Sometimes I am a clown , other times I am a dancer  

At times I am the brave leader , most of the times I am a meek follower 

I always remember my lines and deliver them to near perfection 

I always know what emotion to enact ,whether I really felt it or not is always immaterial 

I wear many masks and slip in and out of costumes 

Ever since I remember I have been on this stage 

The audience watches or I think they do , I only see vague outlines beyond the stage 

I think there are many , I hear murmurs , I hear conversations 

Once in a long while , I hear scattered applause 

It is the applause that spurs me on , I assume they are applauding for me 

I can only assume , for I see only vague outlines , but I know there are many of them 

Once -they applauded when I laughed dramatically , so I tried it again -it fell flat 

So I stopped laughing and sobbed and wept , this time there was applause 

But when I tried it again – it didn’t work 

Over a period of time , I have learnt that this unseen audience is fickle 

I have never understood what they like , so I have taken to try a great many different things 

Once I self immolated on stage , smelling my own burning flesh 

One other time , I peeled my skin off . I even gouged out my own eyes once 

Once I broke my leg and danced a jig 

And another time I tried telling jokes while repeatedly stabbing myself 

I don’t know what works anymore 

The applause gets more muted as the years pass on 

But I keep at it , I keep up the performance 

I am all burnt and scabbed skin now 

My voice is hoarse , I have lost a lung and I walk with a limp 

My mother keeps telling me to get off the stage , she begs , she screams , she pleads 

But she doesn’t understand 

The applause may spur me on , but I am not doing this for the unseen audience 

I am doing this for myself 

Or so I tell her.