An intellectual phenomenon, almost
Ready for you to stare at but never touch
And debate what these clothes mean, this hair, this skin, this nail hanging limply at the end of my
The luminous room was welcoming,
A place where he was transformed,
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes,
This is where his life reformed.
we've (made it through) /
one day at a time /
(hurdles crossed together) /
still figuring and (navigating)
Number one: sunshine
It seemed odd to lose the thing that was most in abundance
And yet, it slipped away, ray by ray
Until there was only the darkness
Here, bisexuality is more like
like gay, but not gay enough,
like double the options (or so you think)
but eight times the panic.
Given the sudden change in his circumstances, we—as Richard’s publishers, community of friends, and extended family of writers and readers who’ve come to love his work over the years—need to rally financial support to help him through the coming months.
An abnormality he thought,
And then with himself he fought.
He thought of himself as foul,
So god's help he sought.
Like a panacea, a magic formula for all sickness
Or the ancient supercontinent Pangaea,
Panromantic and Pansexual is an affinity
Less to do with gender and more to do,
And no one knows what happens
Behind closed doors
It's the only time I can hold your hand,
The one time that smiles aren't forced.
My voice could never make a sound
Hers is like silence twirling around
Even a sigh could reach her and shy away
Will you grab me by the throat
And try erasing a passionate mistake you once made Or ask
me if I'm doing fine And I'd say, how could I?
When I'm deprived of the presence that once gave me life.
I stand still looking down at your hand holding the knife,
My body is trembling with fear but you want me to pay you with my life.
The spectators want me to plead for forgiveness in this time,
So forgive me, for I didn't know love was a crime.
A piece of adhesive
Of the colour red.
The scream of a woman -
“Chakka hai ki ladki?”
Her spectacled eyes
Upon my bindi.
She calms me,
Like the ocean after a life in the harsh desert.
I touch her and the pulse paints a vivid picture,
In my inward eye, she’s my Austen and my Kahlo.
I was no rebel
And this, was a rebellion
Him, oh! how he still made his Abbu proud
The man stood up against the fire
For the country that he loved more than his life
I bite on to his wet neck and shoulders
The salt - reminiscent of oceans
And whole horizons
His body letting out a deep moan
Like smoke rising out
Of smouldering amber.
I’m afraid of holding your hand and letting my heart slip through the gaps in my sleeve
first time I put a dress on
no, not a dress shirt!
it had polka dots and flower pots
a ribbon at the back
to accentuate the waist
or cut lunch some slack
The closet was made
Of charming mahogany
Made with the blood
Of a conservative household
Sacrifices of the heartless
She touches you
and it feels like
the comfort of raindrops
singing on a sweltering night
mine felt like the ember of broken dreams.