A Girl with Scar

Can beauty, possibly be measured by standards?

Attaining pale face, button nose, thick black hairs
Wasp waist, hazel lensed eyes, precipitous height
Can proper proportion of these, entitle one with delight?

A scar on pale face acts as rebellious to beauty

Every maid fear, often detest a scar on body
Can a scar become the reason of one’s shining?
I saw, gazed; lost in thought, arouse as evident that morning

That scar, which was kept hidden from all

For no known reason, only I witnessed that day
Scar, perfectly placed on forehead, I can’t resist to recall
She must be pride of it, oh! Pride can’t be taken away

I suffered restlessness, confessing may relish my being

The little picture of her scar, pours over me every night
It must lure its attendants, to confess her beauty on sight-seeing
What comes out it, repeating complements, everyone did on first-sight
Frustrated with impulse, uttered words trembly
I like your scar, it adds purity to your Youth
I don’t like it myself; her reply destroyed the utopian crumbly
No one praised, this scar before and that’s the utter truth.

What holds them behind to appreciate the beauty

I am sure, her scar was the only inherited dowry
What appears attractive to me, seemed to others deformity
Beauty mustn’t be enslaved to standards for its glory

Everyone is beautiful in its own way

Standards curse the beauty as beauty of scar
And those rare beauties, went unseen as at war
Relinquish standards, for beauty stands above and faraway.

Shoaib Ahmad