This is our journey. And our love, will sail us through.
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Mother
Motherhood has always been one of my most revered dreams.
Just because I was not born as a woman, (or a woman-born-woman, as the radical feminist term goes) this would probably confuse or mystify or even shock some people to understand this strange craving. To be pregnant or to even visualize myself as a mother (or any other individual, who was not genetically born with a womb or as a 'woman') subverts the set norms of medical and culture history, its shunned as 'immoral' and even 'disgusting' "strange' and strings of other such bullshit but of course it does not bother even ONE bit in painting my heart out. I did a similar sketch sometime back, which is on this blog, called MOTHER and this painting comes several months after that. I am wiser, more blue like the watercolors and also, hungrier than ever before. The above art work is watercolors and mixed media (a style that I absolutely love and personally relate a lot with. I am also a mixed media, kitschy thing you know). Having a life, breathing inside someone, curling toes, winking lashes in your womb- I have never gotten over the visceral intensity of this. How insane is this. How beautiful is this and as a transwoman, a woman, I have always imagined something like this for me. And I know this sounds cliched, but really, a woman is so powerful and not only because she can create a life inside her, but even around her with such effortless grace. To all the beautiful woman, love and much more of it:)
Maybe this also comes from overly-hyped stereotype that to be a woman, one has to bear a child and for decades this has been a major tool of discrimination held against transwomen (and even gays and lesbians, for not procreating. Yes?). But this is not about trans politics and feminism. There are other places to discuss that.
This is for me.
There are my dreams. This is my world. My passion and night colours.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
So, who likes cheap Indian men?
I will tell you some truths.
I like strayed Indian men who play it tough
And their ripped asses sing fuck-you-here-right-now through the wrinkled jeans.
I like you in police uniforms,
And I like you in dark, grimy tea stalls
Where you swap Centre Fresh and Rajnigandha paan masala as you smoke.
You look at me with a coy grin, your drink still virgin and I can eat your whispers
you pierce into your own mouth.
Why don’t you think it aloud?
Use Hindi. Say chootiya like you own it, let it smell sweaty. Remind me of tousled pubic curls. Public toilets.
Take me to cheap guest houses, where fans creak and dark bathrooms that have never tasted electricity.
I will scratch your back, it’s tired and it wants me. I will step over your white collar intentionally.
Your tongue preaches morality to my nipples. So you are saint, really.
Now this is another drag act- you as a holy saint with a greasy chest and me, the dancer. The tempting vamp.
Act chaste and disturbed, I am decadent and bad ass. I will trap you anyways. (Rock the bed again).
Let’s scandalize the hotel waiters and give them some joy.
When we are done, light a Ganesh beedi and help me understand:
Why do I like such strange things?
I like strayed Indian men who play it tough
And their ripped asses sing fuck-you-here-right-now through the wrinkled jeans.
I like you in police uniforms,
And I like you in dark, grimy tea stalls
Where you swap Centre Fresh and Rajnigandha paan masala as you smoke.
You look at me with a coy grin, your drink still virgin and I can eat your whispers
you pierce into your own mouth.
Why don’t you think it aloud?
Use Hindi. Say chootiya like you own it, let it smell sweaty. Remind me of tousled pubic curls. Public toilets.
Take me to cheap guest houses, where fans creak and dark bathrooms that have never tasted electricity.
I will scratch your back, it’s tired and it wants me. I will step over your white collar intentionally.
Your tongue preaches morality to my nipples. So you are saint, really.
Now this is another drag act- you as a holy saint with a greasy chest and me, the dancer. The tempting vamp.
Act chaste and disturbed, I am decadent and bad ass. I will trap you anyways. (Rock the bed again).
Let’s scandalize the hotel waiters and give them some joy.
When we are done, light a Ganesh beedi and help me understand:
Why do I like such strange things?
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
Ruler of my heart
The ruler of my heart is only swallowed through music
And gentle, incandescent stares through the candles at night.
He won’t kiss you, won’t steer his legs up your sheet, won’t wonder how many more nights this will happen.
He will torture your impatient soul, until it bleeds.
That’s love too. The bloody kind.
And gentle, incandescent stares through the candles at night.
He won’t kiss you, won’t steer his legs up your sheet, won’t wonder how many more nights this will happen.
He will torture your impatient soul, until it bleeds.
That’s love too. The bloody kind.
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