Turning Into Stone/Ahilya’s Curse

Life slips out of me.
My eyes — two beads of tourmaline,
pink only at the outlines.
My skin — a bronze offender.
These are the statues you like.
Don't you, sir?
The ones that seem will
break into a confession any moment,
or collapse to the ground.
Yet still,
in control still.
The creases done right.
'So lifelike!'
'There must be a mystery world of statues',
you like to think.
'Is it a prayer they gradually warp their silence into?'
'And is this stillness a penance?'
'And for which sins?' — This is my favorite,
really.
Like you've to sin
to not fit into someone's mould
yet turn into stone!
Like the men in uniforms
have no say in it!