Choked Desolation

 Abstract

Being in the closet is never an easy thing. It might look like turning away and avoiding the struggles of being different might be a better alternative. But to hide oneself over long periods of time is a lonely and challenging thing to do and an extremely solitary place to be in. This poem is a window towards that bleak solitude which many of us has experienced atleast once in our lives, irrespective of being queer or not.

Poem

Locked in fog,

So thick it looks painted on me

In the color of dread,

That even I can't see myself,

Trembling out of fear or frost

In that jolly-looking mask of paint,

Hiding the ME

In that pretty little cave

Actually, the leaky little cave.

The Mask? The Cave? The Fog?

All so cold and dry,

Except for the tears, bitter in torment,

I never knew,

Choking and leaking off ME,

Blanketing and stinging my fingers

Smeared in cold

Numb in the chill, 

Closing on ME,

Coloured in terror,

Dimly longing for warmth

For home...

But afraid all the same

Afraid to leave the Fog

Out of the Cave, 

Called the CLOSET.

Locked in fog painted on me

In the color of dread

Conditioned to hide in the leaky little cave,

Unbeknown of my right to venture beyond,

Of the light beyond

I stand weary and drained

From the agony

Of the rejection of ME

Chaining me to the Fog,

Remote and deserted

Obscuring ME, forsaken and despondent,

Trembling in that jovial mask of paint

Only to ask, "Why?"

With an answer as foggy

And blue as the CLOSET,

The only home for ME,

Ever...

Beyond the Obscurity

 

Abstract 

From the moment we are born, we are constitutionally given the right to freely express ourselves. But is this what is really happening? In this month of Pride, I'd like to address the superficial facets of "Freedom of Expression" which is tainted by homophobia, transphobia and much more. Being conditioned to be cisgender and heterosexual from the moment one is born forces a lot of us into a dark, painful and ugly place called the Closet. This place is so terribly excruciating that words cannot even begin to describe it. Only utter silence signified by "..." can stand representative of it for all of us to pour out our festering wounds out of simply being who we are or loving another human being. 

Poem

“Freedom of Expression,”

A right said to be inherent in all

But is it really?

That inherent right,

Isn’t it often curtailed

By the social constructions of gender?

Am I so wrong for feeling suffocated

For not being able to be who I am?

The pain pulsing in my heart,

Waiting to spew out

To dirty that “society” with its

Ugly and slimy arms

Is it really dirty?

Is it that ugly?

 

To be who I am

To love who I want

To wear what I want

To walk my way

The way my legs & hips take me

Is it really that ugly?

 

“Freedom of Expression,”

A right often said to be inherent

But is it really?

That inherent right,

When am I to feel it

Removing those chains,

Shoving my words back in my throat.

 

Those words brimming and brimming,

Waiting to overflow

And let everyone know my “ugly” secret,

Is trembling like a thin leaf

As if it’s ready to fall off

And leave the way it came from,

Silently…

 

Silence, dark as it is,

Surrounds me.

Loud as it is,

Makes me lonely,

Begging for some warmth,

Waking that pulsating pain,

Showering me in salty, salty tears,

Silently…

In the name of “Freedom of Expression.”

 

Expression…Isn’t it to be colourful and vibrant

So vibrant that it looks

Ugly but runs deep and beautiful,

Coming in different shapes and sizes

To embrace all and all

Even in those salty, salty tears,

Sharing vulnerabilities

And calling for inclusion in its warmth?

 

That “Freedom of Expression,”

Inherent in all,

Is it equal for “all”?

Is chains for some and freedom for others

What equality means?

What “Freedom of Expression” means?

Embrace of Tears

I have grown up

From that time when I thought

Those labels that brought me near-salvation

Were everything.

 

Enlightened now, I see how futile those were,

Those labels that do not exclusively incorporate me,

Weren’t everything

Even in a world,

Of labels and categories

Of eagle-eyed looks,

Staring eagerly like hawks

To make a show of my confession

Of who I really am.

 

My confession makes those eagle-eyes

Turn inwards with the question,

“What all do I have to see,

To hear in this lifetime of mine?”

As if me, my labels, categorizations…

Are all burdens,

While I am actually

Opening my hands in invitation

To share their own blood and tears

With the promise of INCLUSION.

 

My, now, longer legs and bigger eyes

Take in the beauty in Sharing Vulnerabilities,

Those vibrantly coloured vulnerabilities,

With the lessons of blood and tears,

I realize that discrimination and marginalization

Is not a game like Olympics 

Has never been one

To be won by the either team.

 

Lending a hand to those different,

Dripping the same blood as me,

Crying the same tears as me,

Doesn’t make my pain any lesser.

Rather I gain a warm hand

Enclosing mine,

Supporting mine,

Growing into a much warmer hug

And a promise of INCLUSION

Through Shared Vulnerabilities.