• Under the Raintree Festival

'Perfection' by Chandrama Deshmukh

There’s this salon

on the high-street of my city.


forever Christmas-like.

A frenzied celebration

of face masks.

I remember

this fragrant lobby,

waltzing in instrumental music

to cover the din.

This fabricated peace,

that always

gets me on tenterhooks.

Plastic perfection

moulded into smiles.

"Would you like to get rid of your moles?"

she asks,

"Why? I love my moles."

self talk

They are the shooting stars

emerging through my body.

They represent

unfulfilled wishes.

"No," I manage to say.

"How about that scar then?

Would you want to cover that up?

It will disappear, I assure you!"

self talk

And what about the pain

associated with this scar?

The one that erupts

for no reason. Out of a memory,

a suspended patch of past

in the limbo of present.

I shudder at the thought

of my scar-less face.

This flaw holds me together,

like I grew around this scar

layer after layer.

"No," I say with a smile.

These moles. This scar.

They are mine,

my un-fabricated perfection.

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