For Ashwati

 

Shiva.

Destroyer.

Third eye.

Hear him.

Feel him.

 

Queer.

 

These are my people.

Praying to me, hands stitched together,

The seams of their palms worshipping the ground

I walk on.

 

I do love woman but also love a man.

I wonder-

 

I wonder if they know me.

Their lord.

 

Shiva

Destroys himself.

 

My bones ache with the voices of my screaming children.

I wonder if they’ve heard, I was once a screaming child, that,

I was once a boy.

 

Hinduism is one of the only ancient religions that refuses to condemn homosexuality. This piety was celebrated.

 

Me, a man, Vishnu, a man, joined fates.

they knew his gender wasn’t palpable for a man like me; but if

Only they knew we loved each other.

Our love; a field of soft wheat: unfarmed. 

 

My people have forgotten that our people are

People.

Forgotten that to survive in a country I rule, 

My children must pass as an ugly thing we’ve called “tolerable”,

As straight. 

 

Shiva destroys himself again wondering why-

 

Ashwathi, a girl from a village in the south, was taken to the doctor and forced to correct herself. 

What needs to change except the mindset?

What needs to change but-

 

Hinduism portrays Shiva, the destroyer, as gay. The god of gods, god of destruction, now isn’t that a miracle? erupts himself into-

 

Himself.

 

If only they knew we weren’t like this 10,000 years ago.

We were full of love and hope and dreams and beauty

It was beautiful.

WE were beautiful

gods. We,

Traversing the earth, we

sang divine calls so that heaven would accept us.

We, with broken backs, unbroke ourselves, unable to

Feel pain.

Unable to feel strife.

We were happy.

Color of mud

Face of sand,

But life was worth living.

 

A glorious majesty.

 

And isn’t that a kind of magic too? How our heavenly god of destruction is queer, is royal, is able to and will destroy what doesn’t worship him, worship us? How do we forget so many of our people use our gods to justify so many queers being broken and cracked and split? How do we forget Ashwathi? Her beauty, her grace, the song of her lips.

 

We live every day only to be killed.

 

But my children live every day to prove we can’t be killed.

We deserve worship.

My children are holy and when we assemble at the gates of heaven

We will rage.

 

Shiva.

Destroyer.

Third eye.

Hear him.

Feel him.

Queer.

These are my people.

Praying to me, hands stitched together,

The seams of their palms worshipping the ground

I walk on.

I do love woman but also love a man.

I wonder-

 

I wonder if they know me.

Their lord.

Shiva

Destroys himself.

My bones ache with the voices of my screaming children.

I wonder if they’ve heard, I was once a screaming child, that,

I was once a boy.

Hinduism is one of the only ancient religions that refuses to condemn homosexuality. This piety was celebrated.

Me, a man, Vishnu, a man, joined fates.

they knew his gender wasn’t palpable for a man like me; but if

Only they knew we loved each other.

Our love; a field of soft wheat: unfarmed. 

My people have forgotten that our people are

People.

Forgotten that to survive in a country I rule, 

My children must pass as an ugly thing we’ve called “tolerable”,

As straight. 

Shiva destroys himself again wondering why-

Ashwathi, a girl from a village in the south, was taken to the doctor and forced to correct herself. 

What needs to change except the mindset?

What needs to change but-

Hinduism portrays Shiva, the destroyer, as gay. The god of gods, god of destruction, now isn’t that a miracle? erupts himself into-

Himself.

If only they knew we weren’t like this 10,000 years ago.

We were full of love and hope and dreams and beauty

It was beautiful.

WE were beautiful

gods. We,

Traversing the earth, we

sang divine calls so that heaven would accept us.

We, with broken backs, unbroke ourselves, unable to

Feel pain.

Unable to feel strife.

We were happy.

Color of mud

Face of sand,

But life was worth living.

A glorious majesty.

And isn’t that a kind of magic too? How our heavenly god of destruction is queer, is royal, is able to and will destroy what doesn’t worship him, worship us? How do we forget so many of our people use our gods to justify so many queers being broken and cracked and split? How do we forget Ashwathi? Her beauty, her grace, the song of her lips.

We live every day only to be killed.

But my children live every day to prove we can’t be killed.

We deserve worship.

My children are holy and when we assemble at the gates of heaven

We will rage,