Mist
In the air,
Thinning out
As it travels
Inside your soul.
You let it out,
Too soon.
You don't
Let it affect
The words
Your lungs breathe.
You float
For some seconds,
Ephemeral.
Later,
You sink in,
You let yourself drown.
Mist
In the air.
Now you're one.
The air outside.
The air inside.
You're the mist you breathe.
In every breath
You take
It is his name.
He says
The air that infuses
And permeates your soul.
You're the mist
Who lost its identity.
You're the mist
You breathed in.
“Are you a lesbian?” A friend of mine once asked me mockingly when we were discussing about my aversion from some (“some” not “all”) kind of men. “No. But does it matter?” I asked her scornfully. No, I wasn’t bothered that I was asked a question about my sexuality. But what I didn’t understand was that is being a lesbian a matter to be jeered about? What if I was one? Wouldn’t I be hurt and embarrassed that my sexuality was just mocked at? Why are the words “gay” or “lesbian” used as slangs? Another incident, that took place a couple of years back, was when I was teasing two girl friends of mine, accusing them of having an affair. I considered it as normal as teasing a guy and a girl. One of them found it so disrespectful that she, instead of simply denying the fact, chided that she isn’t of such “third class” standard. I later discussed the small argument that we had, with her, trying to make my point that being a lesbian or a transgender doesn’t define anyone’s cla...
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