I wanted to tell a hundred people
For the truth will set me free

For 27 years I put up a face
When people assumed their course
I chose not to reveal my true face
Lying, by not denying with force

I spoke to a friend, who had dared to tell
His folks came down so hard, he fell
“Do not try,” he said, he meant well
It was not easy, but I dared to tell

—

First was a friend of five years
He thought he knew me well
I told him the secret and off the chair he fell
“You’re neither pansy nor a drag queen…
…This is another prank of yours to fool me well”
He thought he knew me so well

Second, was this friend of five years
For he had disbelieved me at first
This time he said it may still be a lie
But it did not matter for a thing
He knew me too well in other ways
This would change nothing

Now that it was sorted
It felt like a burden slightly lifted
I wanted to tell ninety-nine more people
For the truth will set me free

—

My parents were the hardest to tell
I tried too many times but couldn’t tell
Wrote them a note in Tamil
A language so rich and tender
That has eighteen different words
To describe a leaf from bloom to wither

I looked up ‘gay’ in Tamil
And it had no synonym to offer

However, the note was done and then the deed was done
It took ten days before I met them again
Dear brother spoke to them every day till then
There was some crying and disbelief

By the time I got back
It was already OK to not to talk
On the one thing I wanted to talk
For, my parents acted as if nothing changed

I was told they were proud
Of all that I had done
And the next event in my family
Was to be my younger brother’s wedding
My parents were the easiest to tell
I never spoke but they understood

Now that it was sorted
It felt like a burden fully lifted
I wanted to tell ninety more people
For the truth will set me free

—

I told one person a week
I told one person a day
I told one person an hour
I told till I was left with no one to tell

Some were happy to congratulate
Some were clueless to react
Some offered advice to get treated
Some were quick to unfriend

I cared no more and told a few more
In time even some of the unfriended came around
For 27 years I’ve put up a face
Not a moment longer will I hide my true face

I told one hundred people
And the truth has set me free

Notes:
* The author wishes to dedicate this poem to the Orinam’s Quilt reading group participants who attended the meeting on 26th April 2014. Without their encouragement, this poem would have remained in a personal diary forever.
* Image source: http://cltampa.com

You say I am illegal because of my flesh,
Racism-pigmentocracy,
Separation-marginalization,
Apartheid, a race apart.
Even after the laws change,
Discrimination still exists
Cradling fear and fight of flesh-hood
Same flesh, different color.
Illegal,
So is it my flesh, my body, or my being?

You say I am illegal because of the land I stand on.
I do not belong here.
The land sits underneath the sky,
Shall we fight over clouds?
However, this is no different than the land I was born from.
Migration to illegal immigration,
I am, me, the im- in immigration,
The prefixed knot in the rope,
The prescribed not of ‘im’ and ‘il’
Illegal,
So is it the land, my body, or my being?

You say I am illegal because of love,
An endearing criminal at best,
Same heart, different passion,
Love is not a crime.
What matters is within:
not the shape of our skin
377: I went sleep in 2013 and woke up in 1860,
Illegal,
So is it my heart, my body, or my being?

You say the I of me, the me of I is- Illegal.
The law versus: Land, love, and life,
No! No being is illegal,
Neither my body, flesh, nor heart,
Not even my soul,
It is time,
To set my soul afire and let it free.

Image source: www.citypoop.com