The Sheath...

At last a work that is inspired by those who I do not call my own, or those who do not wish to be called mine…Alas, life is relative all along and relativity extends to more than the grades in the class. The poem is an attempt to question where and why do we consciously choose to loose ourselves by what we want others to think of us and feel good? The only doubt is regarding the title ---should it be The Shroud instead? Coz somewhere in this melee the Me dies…???

I made me a shell of a Golden hue
And hid me within, lest some would see
My misplaced cracks, my naked quacks
And know what was the real me…
I sat secure, with its fastened lid
With my back pressing where I feared
They could come and undo my shield…
Though I had it camouflaged and smeared
In the self-same hue as all of me.
Nights on end, passed as days
With the open eye awake to breath
Down upon ‘ne mortal being
Who came to lift my golden veil.
On high alert I sat always
No trace of peace, no sense of ‘me’
But all this while I had on me
My golden sheath; what else I’d need?
I saw me with the fulfilled smile
Coz I was what they deemed as good
But did I know that all the while
There was so much, I could not be…