During the pandemic we all had to wear masks
smiles hidden behind fabric fortresses,
like bridal veils, we could hide
our true selves beneath a layer of cloth.
In summer months we’d moan “too hot”,
but we bore it as we’re a law abiding lot,
obedient in our silent, masked parade.
Some people got designs on theirs,
I have some in my drawer, gifts from a well meaning friend.
First Nations Art, a symbol of care,
a cultural kin, a heartfelt shield,
reminders of identity beyond the mask.
Yet beyond personal choice, the divide grew clear;
the super rich, unmasked, dined fine,
whilst others served, and toed the line,
a masked society's other side.
Meanwhile we cheered the heroes,
nurses, doctors, binmen too.
Masked workers on the frontlines,
while the unmasked elite moved through.
And behind each mask a question slowly grew
is this just to save, or something new?
A symbol of hope,
a symbol of rules we must obey,
a symbol of fear, of danger near,
or maybe something we refuse to see clear?
Some still wear their masks
insecurity etched deep,
unwilling to face what’s concealed
for in wearing masks we forget
freedom is more than hiding within.
If masks conceal more than just faces,
then what do truths do we risk losing
when we refuse to look behind the fabric
and see what’s below the surface?
The prompt was persona - but sometimes prompts take you off to other places.
