Remember when your mother would douse you in rose water to cleanse you?
Turmeric and milk, Fair n Lovely and what not. You would stifle your sobs and wonder-after taking your land and pride and everything you had, why did they leave you with the melanin rotting on your skin? Just like your mother tongue, dribbling from the sides of your mouth like an embarrassment.
So now, when your mother rubbed at your skin you never quite knew what she was trying to scrub off exactly-the ugly from your body or the displacement your soul inherited from hers. She would try, and neither would leave.
So now you would be on the streets roaming from door to door, beauty spilling off every inch of your skin, leaving pools of midnight everywhere. Beauty displaced in its native land and that was you-a homegrown exile.
But if no door opened up to you, it’s because four walls could not contain you. If all the fairness creams in the world couldn’t fix you it’s because there was nothing about you that needed fixing in the first place.
No next time they come to beat the dusk out of your being, remind them of the sacred of your skin. Remind them that even after every god has toppled off the heavens, there is still the eternal darkness left. And that is our goddess.