wabi-sabi

Dishevelled,
My every strand in disarray,
Eyes, bleary from the drunkenness
Of the night.
The garb well-worn, with a tear
At the seam.
i glance at her
and she at me.
this face has seen
Countless nights
meandering in dreams
And as many days,
Wandering in thought.

and then i see
My crows-feet. Suddenly
Alive, etched into permanent marks
Around the eyes
That have seen,
loved, lived and died
Over and over again.
There are wisps of grey,
Settled irrefutably amidst the dark
Canvas of my hair,
Each, a toast to a lesson learnt.

Laugh lines gently kiss
The corners of my lips,
Some remind me of life
In its lighter vein,
Some, of tragedies that I have
Borne witness to. In vain.

I am no more a tender frame,
The burdens of everyday
Have settled upon me.
Generously.

She is not the I
That that will emerge
A few hours later, in
Coiffed hair and suit to match
The colour of her lips.
And rings that embrace
manicured nails,
Shoes that will announce their
Arrival with a gentle click on their soles.
She is the I that the world knows.

But when disrobed of external identity,
I discard the she that is not me.
I love this,
The wabi-sabi,
Perfection of imperfection
Than the world does not want to see.
The real she -
This is me.



written after an argument i had with a beautician friend! early february 2011