A Virgin In Brown


The man on the mirror

With exit wounds

Of unremorseful prejudice

Yet you couldn’t kill me……

You painted me pitch black 

With your charcoal words

And wrapped me in a black cloth

When I was as sweet

As brown sugar



The man on the passport

Who can take me through borders

Of colorblind love……

Yet you with your bleached pupils

Could only see the butter cookies dipped in milk

What was painted in Aryan paint

Yet I stood there just above your gaze – a fellow Aryan  

Too tanned for your eyes

Too much color, too polluted

For a Sri Lankan lass



The man with the pen

Tear open my sooty skin

And bare open my golden soul

For all to see

A brown man with iron wrists

That could hold a woman in sorrow and thrill

Staring at his own cinnamon smoke

Going up mental chimneys

Of a bared soul

Absented of reciprocation


Do you see me

The brown man in front of you

Too tanned, too dark

To be a unicorn to your eyes

To be the albino one

The man who holds a nib in hand

And spins words around your heart

Hoping you will hear my whispers

Of a love that is brown as golden treacle

What I possess in abundance

But what you fail to grasp with your heart


I am the brown man

In a perennial brown-out in your mind

A man lingering in spanned eons of wait

Seeking your total surrender

A man, tanned brown on the outside

Yet brilliantly white on the inside


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