Life feels like an opera sometimes.
Everyone watching from balconies
Judging the performers on how they perform
On stage, their eyes vigilant as ever
Scooping out any mistake,
Any gap or anything worth criticism.
And the balcony, isn’t it just
A place with a scenic view,
We lift ourselves to, to watch
The unfolding drama, a ballet
Where dancers pirouette, do arabesque
And many other maneuvers on pointed toes.
Skirts like coronas around the waist,
Radiating out to those
On the edge of a balcony seat.
The only thing more intense
Than the figure hugging leotards
Are the spectators, homing in
On every scene. Everything
Seemed stretched that eve; the leotards, time
Limbs and imagination, while
Standing guard were the eyes,
Blotting from punch.