Truth Comes at Dawn
God gave them hair, but they added wigs;
He gave them lashes — they made them longer.
God gave their lips a colour, yet they changed it to figs;
He shaped their chests — they prefer them silicone-stronger.
Their faces hide beneath make-up fixtures,
Their brows they darken with penciled skives.
Their skins they bleach with caustic mixtures,
Their bellies they flatten with sharpened knives.
Even their butts they build Brazilian high;
On their nails gleam paints and polished glosses.
Their tongues spill words that flirt or lie,
Their skins bear rings and tattooed crosses.
Better choose one — before or after bath,
Or fakeness will lie on your bed till morrow;
And when you wake to dawn’s clear path,
The truth will stand in a mirror of sorrow.
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