Your mother bled pain for four days every month and risked her life to give you birth, and when she held you for the first time she called you her life irrespective of the skin tone you carried but all you learnt to see after opening eyes is a fair face. // You look into the mirror and she calls you a prince standing beside but all I see is disgust //
To the W O M E N : ( looking for fair faced men )
Your father's skin tone is not what he was born with. He gave up on his looks to gather comforts for you and he smiled the widest, called you beauty the first time you curled your fingers around his , irrespective of the colour of your skin. He taught you love and all your eyes learnt was facial beauty. // Keep looking for a fair skinned man and I will tell you that loyalty and love has no colour. Disgrace has, the one you are painting yourself in //
To A N Y O N E : ( mocking others on skin tone )
When was the last time you uplifted a person with your words. I see it never happened because all your words learnt is pushing someone down. Did you know words coming out of your mouth smells like filth and so do you. // You paint your room in white and paste a picture a picture of snow white but someday if you fall in a pit, you will hold any hand that comes for help. Helping hands have no colour, right? //
To the P E O P L E : ( in fairness products business )
Your advertisement is running on all channels. Keep taking sips of pride and never count the number of people for whom you constructed a hell by erasing reason and scribbling garbage on society 's brains. // Victory has a colour too that you will never see because you failed each time someone felt inferior because of you //
To the W O M E N and M E N : ( who ever felt less because of skin tone )
You are an art. Only an artist shall know your value. But don't wait, become one yourself. You have infinite colours in you so paint yourself in the shade you like. // The next time they tell you to not pick a very bright colour, wear yellow. Become the sun they can never meet their eyes with //
You romanticize 'today' too much, because you think yesterday is an ugly truth and tomorrow, a beautiful lie. Maybe that is what makes it easy for you to live in the edge of time. People are skeptical you see, they hold onto something for a long time only to let go in the end.
I watch as you sit by the bonfire, eyes keen on wood as it reacts to every sensual touch of fire. The cinnamon smoke brings back to life the faded time, and I wonder if flames are too intense for someone who has seen more storms than sunshine. "When you can't choose between green and blue, fill the canvas with turquoise" you say, and I know you're the kind one would sneak out with, to paint the city bright while it's still asleep.