B-L-I-N-G has always defined my life and world.

Struggle? Huh. Absolutely not.

Yes. Absolutely not. Not when

I had to get into the skin

Of the person, who shall judge my work.

I am supposed to, no wait, I wanted to,

Bring something new-in-vogue.

I am still struggling to keep that zeal alive.

How alive am I in this skin? This facade that I wear

Of a ‘promising upcoming designer’?

How different is this life from that model’s

Who plasters her appearance,

Looks into a form – a ‘morph’ for the fashion-in-season.

Well, I make that morph with my own hands.

I am the tailor who sews the catharsis,

In which my sweat and blood flows.

How long can my catharsis lie itself?

How long can I stand along, as a vendor of skins?

Can’t skins tear and bleed?

I wish all those skins bleed,

Shouting my anger and vengeance

And calm down my insane mind.

Sometimes I can feel my own skin clawing open

Into wounds, I didn’t know he inflicted. Or she.

Through His and Her eyes. I wish.

I wish all those eyes and lights and fans would shut down.

They fan the furnace in my heart and exposes my ‘self’.

I feel stripped, naked and dehumanised. And weak.

Yes, yes I am weak. I am struggling.

And mastering the struggle has been my game.

The world forgets but I know it right,

The tailor knows best where the stitches are needed.

Author: Pompi Basumatary


About Write Club Team

Write Club Team comprises of highly motivated writers and creative inhabitants, who aspire to make Hyderabad an empowering abode for fabulous writers.

One thought on “Skin-Deep

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