Internal Conflict

He thinks before speaking a word,
Like he's playing a game of chess!
One imperious move-
Damn! He's lost! Checkmate !!!

He smiles even when he's hit by the waves of doom,
He masquerades happiness to please his chauvinistic ego.
"What will she think of me if she sees me shed tears?"
- Is his simplest fear.

With his mind as his owner
He makes a bouquet of words,
Choosing each word- a flower with celestial aroma
But- will she be impressed? Oh! His trauma
To understand her feelings
He relies on their conversation
But wait! Is she also afraid?
Does like him, she too speaks to impress?
Too much confusion?Alas!
Will their feelings be prisoned in a flowery vase?

No! One day his heart will consume his brain,
To set his feelings free-to break the glass.
The bouquet of words will be useless
All his fears pushed to solitude
No longer will he try to impress-
He has learnt the tune of his flute.

Despite the flawless mask of her imperturbable equanimity,
His heart introduces him to the turmoil she conceals,
With the barrier broken and masks peeled off,
One understands the agony even when the other laughs.