The many transings of my gender
1. Trans dyke blues
They gave her a canvas.
And asked her to paint.
Down in her head,
In her sacred profanities,
she saw someone.
She painted them.
┬а ┬а ┬а ┬а ┬а Them, in each others hands.
In their small home.
Home.
She grew flowering vines around the painting.
She grew, flowing into that girl she drew
She grew, wilted, regrew, rewilted
Joyful, playful, holy, insane
A little bit of un-sacredness
yet sacred the same.
2. Ode to a night of aching arms
That one night in peak Delhi summer
We talked all night on the phone
You were restless about your bass tone
My hands ached from holding the phone, till
6 AM┬а in the morning.
I didn’t mind.
Delhi is approaching winter, my love.
My pen aches to write for your bass.
My hand aches to ache,
holding the phone till
6AM in the morning
Again.
3. Sabr… dear heart…sabr
This Eid
There is no waking up to shower at 4, cold.
There is no riding with 5 people on a
motorcycle.
There is no table with banana leaves on,
covered in beef biryani.
There is no rush to the eidgaah.
Here I sit,
in my tattered cargos and corduroy jackets,
Couple of tears on my cheeks
Reminiscing the eids gone
Can the transsexual Eid?
