Not A Masquerade But Misery

By Disha Ransingh

They say I’m just a faded unembellished painting

That my colours aren’t bright enough to keep the eyes chanting

Or that the walls don’t deserve for me to be kept hanging

They also show how the strokes of the brush used was feeble

But I wonder if the brush belonged to God, then why am I taunted by people?

Somehow I sink in their comments that I’m faded or broken

Still do you know my paint fainted when it hadn’t dried or soaked in?

Cause fell on me were million raindrops from the cloud you have been

Or maybe my million teardrops that I shredded when you made a scene

As you said the cameras don’t catch me for I was too dark

Or that wobbly fat doesn’t give that dress a spark

You said me too that my scars won’t carve me into any star

Or that my skinny limbs won’t let a man sweep me off my feet

For my artifice was shattered every second and bit

Then I looked in that breakable mirror to just break me apart

cause I Always tried to veil my face when flashlight or spotlight fell

And never went to a party where rhythms matched or friends crowded well

For sure, they tried emptying my plate, for me to lose weight

But what’s the point when you just lost your character and faith?

And they said me too how my disordered hair is haywire in the air

As I know they never see that ordered mind that lives under my disordered hair

No doubts, they doubted if I would ever reach the reign of rhapsody

Cause they didn’t know I was never a dry leaf but a glow of blooming lily

Even said to fall so gracefully like the raindrops from paradise

For you never saw the drops of sweat and tears I dropped just to stay on the right side

You know I can never build that staircase to touch the sky a bit

When all you do is creak the floor with your hammer-like stares under my feet

You decry and dare me to sway and shine like that moonbeam

Cause you just don’t know that the moon shines with its scars

Even if it’s the reign of haunted blackness, its still graceful than those gleam of stars

So why do you say me to masquerade, for it’s just misery that breaths within

when all you do is smirk like a clown or some jinxed Harlequin

By Disha Ransingh