Should I be Black?
Should I be White?
Can I be Both?
Striving to find these reasons,
With my Patchy Hands;
Learning to deal with my Painless Treasons,
Along with my Countless Blotchy Blands.

I am Humiliated, I am Shattered,
I am alive, more like a Living dead;
Who cares for me? Noone at all
Even for myself, I accepted my fall.

I am a fool! Waiting for some Care,
I am hoping for someone to Dare;
Touch me, but hug me more,
But no-one will try, I swore.

And now I have learned the Farce,
Along with these spotted marks;
Yes, I have Vitiligo, but it's not the fault,
It's your Ostracisation which Pain is the result.

You mock at the Blotches of my skin-
The shapes of Peninsulas on my Hands,
Australia around my Nose,
Africa on my Eyes and
America around my Lips.

And I just smile
Pondering over the Certitude that
If the Words You Spoke,
Appeared on your face;
Would you still be Beautiful???