Something can be said of men
Those who tread on path of choice.
Know they are gay even when
They dread saying it in their voice.
He buries the secret like
Nuclear junk deep underground.
Radioactive poison strikes
inside; none can see the wound.
Friends ask one day which mademoiselle
Stole our young man's beating heart.
'Lies no more', he says to self;
Young man's heart is beating fast.
Says: 'I like men, I am gay.'
Expectant eyes grow too wide.
Silence... clapping, 'hip hurray!'
Wise choice was to no more hide.
Burden deep in heart subsides
When with friends he feels so free.
Yet mom-dad think time is ripe
For him to grow the family tree.
Plans for his marriage bulldoze
His meows, his persistent nays.
When he can't take it no more
Shouts he, 'Listen, I am GAY!',
In front of prospective in-laws.
Stupor spits some tea on him.
Floodlight glares burn down him raw,
Not good choice to act on a whim.
Head is down, the guests take leave.
Father cries out loud, 'Your fault!'
He's awash with plain relief:
All proposals grind to halt.
Time is arrow, seasons pass.
Winter gives its way to spring.
Date in tow, he walks on grass
Seems it more than just a fling.
Ice-cream, sun and wind are bliss,
Here and there he steals a kiss.
Flowers are dancing in tandem
Dodging police checks random.
Fun goes up as sun comes down
He goes to Gurgaon with a date.
Date's flatmates are not in town
Both are excited to mate.
Mate or not to mate they choose
Willingly on their accord.
Societal bonds let them loose;
Bargaining they can afford.
Give some, take some, happens all
In the course of single night.
Light kiss with promise to call,
He leaves for home in delight.
Next day goes a call as sworn,
No reply comes back, alas!
Choice is a bitch, he thinks in scorn,
Boy ditches him a bit too fast.
Friends are there to heal him now.
Friends? Oh, they're chosen family!
His old self needs no kids how
parents' old age needs him badly.
Gay world is, yes, riddled with
Choices at every crossroad:
Society didn't fiddle with
Rules to rule the dirty sods.
From the role in bed to role
In dividing house-y chores
To the way you walk / talk / roll:
Are choices to make galore.
On the stairs of choices can
He, a gambler, step or stay.
To be himself or be a man
His inner voice cannot say.
If he ran up bit too fast,
May he stumble down to death.
If he lingers on his past
May it stifle his own breath.
Lady luck will favour the one
Who's a true gambler at heart.