Its not the first time they are chasing me down, hands full of stones.
It wont be the last I am pelted at and called names.
My house has been burnt before and I have sat in its ashes. Equally burnt and devastated. I have gathered that powder, mixed it with my blood, forming an ink thick enough to write fire slogans and rainbow poems.
And I’m prepared to do it all over, until the day…
When a mother no longer flinches at the idea of her boy bringing home a boyfriend.
When a girl is not raped in the name of curing her homosexuality. There’s no cure, because there’s no disease.
When queer people of my county are no longer treated as second grade citizens on the roads, in the metros and in the places they once called “home” and can feel safe again.
When they wake up to the truth that there is never any honour in a killing.
When transgenders are respected also on the days other than weddings and baby showers.
When human rights also means rights of LGBTQ.
When hijda, chhakka and kinnar aren’t ġaalis, and aren’t the meat our “just” society feeds on to feel full of righteousness.
When of course there is no need for anyone to write poems like these.
But until then
I have enough blood in my veins. Enough strength to sit in ashes. Enough heart to make an ink thick enough to write fire slogans and rainbow poems.
– Amy Singh
(Scenes from the pride walk and poem to stand in solidarity with some really happy, funny, queer and zinda dil humans)