Which shade, O’ Lord, be my perfect hue
A woman eclipsed, by manhood’s curse
Or a man imbued, in womanly taboo
To avow one’s kind, is a sin perverse!
Lo and behold, my mystic miscellany
Or a subject of, ethnic awe, and enigma
“Your breasts ain’t real, your twat phony
A caricature of sex, in petticoat and bra”!
Why I need to ever-care, to bare my soul
To those, with shallow doctrines, of sex
What’s it to be, a man, who was never whole
But a woman caged, for years, in social vortex!
Dare I face the truth, in mirror each day?
A piecemeal woman, a manhood truant!
On lonely alleys, lives and dies, a hearsay
“An errant mutant! A Woman Who Wasn’t”!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra