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.

POEM_: Do I Have To See The News?

These fresh young faces; those, that I love
ugly with a loathing, for ‘them’!

I, the self-assumed rational being,
and I, the unabashed sentimentalist,
could either ‘I’, ever find any ends
sufficient to justify
this loss of compassion and caring,
this death of tenderness and love?

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Never!

Never close the door,
when I am outside.
I will not open it.
Or ask you to open it.
Or even complain about it.

I’ll just stand outside,
wither,
and die.

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Efficiency Personified

I know this is a five star hotel,
but, man--
goof up a little.
Drop something in my lap.
Smile at me
with a twinkle in your eye.
Or for never taking my eyes off of you,
at the very least,
get upset with me!
-owais
--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: Digital Lives

Often I wonder, how they manage
to get married to women,
make kids, and then
drag it up at the queens’ banquet?

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: At My Funeral...

At my funeral,
my friends will come
with a handful of dust,
and pay me back
my love, for what
it was worth.

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.

POEM_: ...And I Walked Alone

He asked me
if he could join me.

I said nothing.

He should have joined.
Not asked.

- owais

--
This is first being published on this page.