Through history’s veil, I trace the line,From ancient kohl to modern shine.A ritual carved in powder and hue,A tale of faces — old and new.I speak of queens, of fleeting grace,Of pigments masking every face.Yet in my voice, a shadow falls —For I don’t heed the beauty calls.My story weaves through fleeting trends,A love not found, a path that bends.I question colors, creams, and art —The weight of beauty on the heart.Come listen close, let’s strip it bare,The history of what we wear.A candid truth, my soul laid bare —Of makeup’s grip, and why I stare.

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