The relation we have to our skin defines who we are, or so we won’t have races if it weren’t true…
Our relation to skin roots deeper than time itself, for, as long as we have been around, it is a struggle against the elements based on how it ‘feels’ on our skins.
We were given a layer of skin on our flesh and then we survived covering this first layer with the skins of the beasts we tamed and hunted:
The ‘hunted’ becoming the ‘hunter’!
Generation after generation and generations onward after them: waging wars, trading merchandise, plotting, manipulating nature, founding religions. . . plotting. . . all rooting down to how it feels on our skin.
This thin layer that covers our water dressed in red as blood, our structure dressed in white as bones: carries all we know as love and pain, ecstasy and horror; driving us mad in the name of glory and honor and all other such abstractions as we are known to have been conjuring. . .
This skin, that shelters souls, measures beauty, defines ugliness. . .
Slim and fat, thick and thin, all heroes and the great villains of the past:
All dressed in skin.
Legends and fables ring louder in our memory than those tunes and melodies that haunt us to make justifications of our actions which we dub as our ‘values’:
All akin to who we are in our skin!
And we are bold enough to call it ‘leather’ when it is an act of hiding the true nature of the source of the material:
Irony upon irony: the other name for a leather sheet: "Hide"!
Pakistan is no different here.
The immortal name of our savior of thin skin: Jinnah.
The family trade that fashioned his youth: Leather; again, processed skin!
We are deeply rooted in it.
Covered in it from head to toe.
Rejoice, we have no other choice.
So goes the order of decree divine.