Skin

I’ve got skin,
miles and miles of skin.
covered and adorned with colours,
be it of cotton, silk or others.

It’s perfect in concealing
my cells and the scars I possess
But your eyes would lurk somewhere that has

deeper and deeper crevices.

It would cross the pellucid skin
and the fine-thread of cloth.
Diving into my essentials that I
forbid not to show.

Not to show the trillions of layers,
that has value, life and lustre in it.
Which could get demolished and
fall like dominoes beneath.

Out of pure disgust,

my white-coloured shawl might turn blue.

I might get hurt;
my skin and integrity too.

You might be thinking,
it’s not skin rather a
sheer sheet of fragility.

But I would say, it’s open to all gazes but
not to voraciousness and typicality.