Faces

A poem

In pentameter, primarily iambic. Read aloud for the true pleasure of poetry.

Faces

I met someone after ages yesterday,
Bare facts had, in time, long faded away,
Name, voice, and history were all a haze,
But ah, I knew I surely knew that face.

Life and genes equally shape our visage,
Prints or dental X-rays aren’t our image,
Our skull’s nimble cover of muscle and skin,
Conjures like magic the person within.

Which forehead or eyes, mouth or chin,
What sort of skin or teeth, cheekbones or grin,
Make a Monroe, Hepburn, Pitt, or Clooney?
Who is handsome? What is beauty?

Sensual mobile lips are unmissable,
As objects of desire so kissable,
But it’s clearly eyes that loudest speak,
All of ours are the same, yet each is so unique!

Why do some eyes shine, others seem dead,
Through lovers’ locked eyes, so much is said,
Is it physics or our souls’ chemistry,
Oh, what a delectable mystery!

Beard and turban old aids for men manly,
Rouge, paint, trinkets for girls to be lovely,
But plastic and Botox, is it wise?
Leave off self-loathing; you can smile and rise.

We’re born face-readers, see at a glance,
Who’s shifty, trusty, friendly, worth a chance,
Steal gazes at someone tempting in the crowd,
To catch being looked at makes us smugly proud.

Our facade shapes us, but we sculpt it, too,
As we grow inside, it reveals us true,
Buddha’s peace, Gandhi’s love, Mandela’s grit, 
In their countenance, we see their spirit.

Once our faces told of our nation and tribe,
To modern life and migration ascribe,
Why features now come in such rich array,
Your face contains a world; what does it say?

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