Disease

She was apologetic for him

to her relatives,

to people in her neighborhood.

He was brought up with three sisters

and me, she’d say

his father died when he was born

that’s why he’s like this…

please forgive him, please forgive him;

this was her story and his.

Even when he was nineteen

she’d cover him as a scar

sometimes as a criminal;

but he’d think often

of his friend, raised in no gender imbalance

absolutely, perfectly groomed

no mistake in his sideburns, moustache,

hair, body, not even in his glance

but one could sense a buried gloom

he was also a shame

an inadvertent mistake.

Why’d he grown up being reasoned

by her, to raising eyebrows, jaw-dropping smirks

‘cure him, cure him’ choruses

from concerned on-lookers

until the time she died?

Perhaps repenting carrying him

in her womb

uff, died and delivered.

Now he is on his own

being unnatural, abnormal

all his part;

perhaps it is not his fault

he would have liked to be cured

but, in the absence of pills

how could he? Does he have diabetes

is this really a disease,

or could those watching eyes be ill at ease!

He doesn't know...

doctors himself from the outside

without shame or guilt he shares his inside

story with a friend, in a wild hide.

There is a side in him which wants to die,

while the other, asks why.