Plastered in Paris

As I walked down the shiny streets of Paris…
And saw around me…
Bodies swathed in mulberry silk
Lips smeared with gooseberry tint
Faces caked. Eyes smoked.
Yards of cloth…blues, blacks...swishing in the wind
Clinging to the skin…

Pretences? Cover ups?...ofcourse…
Truth is naked. Like the primitive man.
Naked and stark. Like the stray dog.
That has no multiplicity- it is what it seems – lonely, greedy, sometimes kind?...
Would I attribute the same adjectives to a man?...
Same maybe…but not more.

Not more because I see none.
Only pretences cloud my vision. I try to blow it away.
Like the rain, I wish to purge. I cry like the clouds.
Droplets turn to showers. Showers will give way to storm.
The floods will then wash it all away.

Wash away my pretences. The clothes of lies.
The coat of malice. The silk covered construction…

The body is a construction.
The construction of the mind.
Bricked with heartbeats.
The foundation, my soul.
The skin will, but wither.
The seams will give way
And in nakedness…the pretences shall fall.
Pretences of culture…
Of society…of class…

No more…
No more will then I wrap myself in silk.
But now – what choice do I have.
I continue to pretend. Continue to choke.
The scarf around my neck tightens.
Why?...
Because I am human?...
Why, I’d rather be a dog.