He is the verb without which
every action is incomplete, and he
is the subject-verb agreement that
you have to get correct even if
you have to cheat.
And I think you won't be exaggerating
if you say he is the noun,
the pronoun, the conjunction,
the preposition, and that he is the whole damn
sentence you speak
or the words that you bite inside your cheek.
She is the pauses in between
allowing you to breathe, and
also, the silence that you find in a library.
Oops! I got the wrong metaphor, kitchen. Silence in the kitchen, obviously.
You don't really have to speak while cooking, now, do you?
He is the English prose,
which talked about rats, and rats
always remind you of race,
and it talked about lemons, but
this isn't the lemon- spoon race
that you participated in at the age of 11.
This race is set in a mine, in which
everyone participates without knowing
or asking, and
if there is a blast and your brother dies,
you're not allowed to cry,
you'll just have to keep running now
beyond the finish line.
She is the first rhyme that you
learnt by heart, and the first
piece of poetry that you wrote
but never had the guts to
give it to your first crush
and instead you were asked by
your mother to tell it to your
doll, cause that definitely
made more sense
and of course it did, don't you see
at least you had the chance
of getting a smile in return, no matter
what you say, or overall how shit you be.
She is the red stain which, by the way,
is your sole identity, more like a birth mark
which takes shape on your pants magically
after 12 years of your existence,
and it might be the only
identification in the world
that you have to hide.
Now people are naturally averse to the things
that they don't 'understand' even if
they were taught in the biology class in
10th standard, which I am sure again, they
magically passed, and still make it a reason
for ludicrous bans.
And no points for guessing that he
is the scar that you got while playing football or baseball society match,
and after getting hurt,
you obviously went to watch
the next day's match.
How could you not? That is the most
eventful, I mean, manliest thing during the day,
or I guess now
showing off your scar and the
story behind it beats the match any day.
These pronouns, I mean
genders are not just
cause these are my words
and my usage of pronouns
in my things that
I think I am or that is what something
I am made to believe at least.
Between he and she,
and she and he, what is the
Literally, one letter.
Then between him and her?
two letters now.
Between his and hers,
three letters max.
But practically? Worlds apart.
Difference in freedom, duties,
control over their own body.
So going by these lines,
I just said,
I figured, I am a she,
because I am currently bleeding,
and that I have
two dolls next to my pillow who don't
eat my head off, and
I am a he because I love
playing football not just in dreams
and that I won the best speaker
award in my debating team.
Now, understandably, I am thoroughly confused
by the societal pronouns
thrust upon me and
the words and thoughts
that I seek.
Anyway, long poem short,
when you see
yourself in the mirror,
at first what you will see
is your reflection,
but take a moment, and
close your eyes.
And I hope that you are
thoroughly confused and
satisfied with what you see.