1. Liberation is solace embroidered along the
edges of clothes that dismantle existential
It’s the homeland of all beings with skin
that moulds into a bane every lone twilight.
It’s sadism that chokes our limbs embroiled
in normativity at the first peek-a-boo.
It’s a paradigm dropped into the morning
prayers by quaint baby cuckoos.
It’s t-r-u-t-h echoed out of a girl’s mouth
as if with a dreadful toothache.
It’s an exaggeration of its own innocuous
It’s a gold-rimmed burial ground.
It’s an irony in a man’s mouth.
2. Dysphoria is the price paid for liberation.
It’s a havoc with an undercurrent of
barrenness and broil.
It’s hope that jumped out of poetry and
turned into hysteria.
It’s a rainbow-hued fascination diluted into
a monochrome reality.
It’s a game of hide-and-seek in which a man
hides in a woman and a woman hides in a man.
It’s the weeping apparition of a refugee
massacred inside their own body for trying to
It’s a body running from post to post in a
country that decides the contours of faces for
It’s the antithesis of liberation lurking in its
silhouette that does not distinguish between
the clothe and the solace embroidered along