BY: BEENISH T. SHAIKH, M.B.B.S., BATCH XVIII
This is a struggle.
You would know. You who stand there frozen,
having a thousand identities, yet none
which you recognise.
They observe you.
A gaze that strips away layer after layer
of your visage, exploring every curve and dip in your flesh.
They stare unabashedly,
they smile or they frown.
But mostly they feign understanding
as they stroll away.
It’s quite clear,
they nod in agreement.
What you signify,
What your message is.
This is what the artist intended, of course.
But you are stone.
You are mute. And they have claimed your tongue.
Protests storm through your body
and shatter behind the cold, smooth calm of your facade.
The crooked smile betrays nothing.
About the author: “I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited. ” – Sylvia Plath