Whichever is called laughter

Inside the box of Locked habits
Lies the deadbody of happiness
Like hoarded gold
To be seen and then Secured often
To be enjoyed in secret
The Selfishness

Those who refuse to smile
At the marginalised,
Roll in laughter
Like madmen
Inside their houses

This is an era of staging
Sculptured formula

No one turns to see
The occasions for smiling
No one touches the
Unending fountain