Photo credit: Cherry Laithang
The Thoughts of Painted Skin
By Haya Venna 2
A storm was brewing inside me,
a storm that had a name.
With dark eyes and dark thoughts,
every synonymous had thought the same.
With a reflection of a caring mind,
masked to the brim with opinions so olden.
Oh what irony it was,
to call the judgemental heart golden.
All that was talked about were diamonds on my tainted neck,
from the richest places to an even richer atmosphere.
You could only be tied to someone,
any rich one from the same part of the sphere.
No goads to my un-clever opinions,
my education being a secondary concern.
She’s a girl and therefore she belongs in the kitchen,
house chores is more important for her to learn.
An epiphany clouded my mind,
the only way out is to shine.
But how to do so when you’re a reject,
I better get somewhere before I’m back on their mind.
Photo credit: Natheer Halawani
By Haya Venna 2
Write me like your favourite song.
Play my tunes deep within,
so that when her mocking breath fans above your ears,
and your disheartened eyes look away,
you’d always remember your kin.
When she scars your right cheek,
violently, screaming insults,
I’ll be the whisper of the wind.
For I will be calming you down,
with sweet nothings.
Immerse me into the pot of paint,
red, purple, green or blue,
anything that matches her and you.
Because if I leave looking like a blank canvas,
I’ll know that you will no longer ache.
I am your guardian angel,
blessed with a subject so pleasant.
We’ll make it through the darkest of times,
as long as you remember my presence,
during the highlights of your life.