Concealed beneath the veneer of fabrics,
Some hidden for purely cosmetic delight,
Some engulfed for the shame they carry,
Like tattoos unwanted, that make us wary,
Coated with blushes and concealers,
Reminders of memories that turned us squealer,
Evidence of a past, that haunts till day,
Wounds may have healed, but scars stay,
A bullet wound, or a slash of knife,
Or a scar collected in a bare-knuckle fight,
It may be a remnant of a drunken brawl,
Or just a souvenir of an accidental fall,
Scars adopted on an operation table,
Marks of courage, memories of a fable,
Scars exist on each mortal frame,
Scalding existence like a blaze of flame.
And there are scars buried deep inside,
Hidden, invisible from the plain sight,
Scars we carry, like lesions on soul,
Scars like tiny tears in our fabric whole,
Scars as stamps of a trauma unbearable,
Wounds cancerous, unhealable, irreparable,
Gnawing persistently at our smiles from within,
Eager to crawl out of our skins.
Be it scars on psyche or those of flesh,
We hide them, cover them, keep them fresh,
Reminding ourselves from whence they came,
Reliving constantly, the moments same,
Conscious, aware, drowning in our past,
Watching them in shame, aghast,
Truth be told that shame must be shunned,
Scars should be a reminder of battles won,
A lesson learned through past mistakes,
Worn like a jewellery of the finest make,
A reminder of repentance, not of guilt,
A memorial of the life that was rebuilt,
Wear your scars, set shame aside,
Flaunt them, accept them with pride,
Let the time fade them into your growth,
Embrace them, they deserve an ode.
