POEM_: Being Gay in India III

Days pass
Weeks pass
Months pass
The summer time wind
the ‘Lu’, gives way to
the delightfully
the erratically Indian Monsoon.
But he and I
arranging meetings on the sly
say no word;
just look
just touch
and go away
For months
we look, we touch, we go away.

We wait.

…?


- owais

--
This was first published in Trikone Magazine.

POEM_: Being Gay in India II

They come
in drag, and dance
They come
with false eyelashes, and mascara
They sway their hips
and wink
in the most lecherous way they know
They catch hold
of me,
of my hands, my legs, my crotch;
of anyone, unwilling,
unready to stay uncaught.

They have fun
or pretend to do so.
They have with one
and go to the next
again to do so.

My heart
my Indian romantic heart
my prick, my gay but Indian prick,
We wait
We wait.

- owais

--
This was first published in Trikone Magazine.

POEM_: Being Gay in India I

Rustle of fallen leaves
The young, but almost dead
Neem, my guardian angel
and I
together, we look out the window
We wait
We wait
We wait.

- owais

--
This was first published in Trikone Magazine.