The Masks..

Looking for the ones, who have deserted the mind, Running away as the dry cloud to swell in new set, Thirst for love and hunger for attention on their mark, Human are left alone to fend and lick their wounds. People dress up as the preachers to walk on the same steps, People have mocking thoughts while uttering consoling words, People smell fragrant, obtaining the perfume from the dead, What a wonderful place it is, all are wearing perfect masks. How often do we change it to impress and get impressed? How hard do we try to keep our masks intact at those moments? How long do we have to think that this is an act of the normal? How are these deserted and deserting convinced to get healed?