The compartments of life, a maze we roam,
Where fragments of our soul reside, each in its own home.
The public compartment, where masks are worn with pride,
A scripted role, a performance, to hide inside.
The calculated smile, the polished stride,
A veil to conceal the whispers of our inner tide.
The private compartment, where shadows dance and play,
The unspoken fears, the deepest desires at bay.
The weight of secrets, the scars that never heal,
The whispers of our heart, that only silence can reveal.
The social compartment, where relationships are forged,
Connections made and broken, like fragile and feeble chords.
The superficial chatter, the forced and artificial grin,
A fleeting moment's pleasure, a lifetime's regret within.
The inner compartment, where truths are whispered low,
The dreams that whisper secrets, as the morning sun grows old.
The echoes of our past, the whispers of what's to be,
The threads that weave our story, a tapestry of destiny.
And yet, we yearn for unity, for oneness to unfold,
To merge the fragmented parts, and make our soul whole.
For in the compartments of life, we find our greatest test,
To reconcile the discordant notes, and find our truest best.
But until then, we navigate the labyrinthine route,
With every step a choice, a decision to anoint.
For in the compartments of life, we find our greatest strife,
And the power to choose our own harmony, for all eternity's life.
© Pinku