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.
Nodding to people I am not listening
In front of her, I dream of her
I just know that if I do not take part in dismantling blocks of power that shouts oppression
Then I become one of them too
There is no neutral in the war
People around me feel my heat
From my eyes and from between my thighs
They sense my destitution
Look at their faces sly
At the unexpectedness of my bluntness
And ask me how can I know
About the constantly negotiating
Measurements in your head.
of long-lost diaries
pages spilled with secrets
for me to devour.
You are your own god
The creation and the creator
The one that you need to worship
Know that there's no way someone can claim to love god and not love those who are just right beside them
You may take a woman
Or a man
Or both or none
And the only person who can decide that should be you
Because the only rolls that are really cute are tummy rolls and not these suffocating decaying gender roles
Vikram's collection of poetry is a beautiful intersection of his spiritual, queer, cosmopolitan, and hyphenated identity.