When I pick up the brush and the colours
To paint the portrait of a lady
I wonder who she is
Is she a corollary of her thoughts and desires
or is her being defined by others
Is she about her body
That is doomed to decay
And transform into nothingness
The silhouette of a youthful torso
The hair that blow in the fresh breeze slowly turning grey
Is she about the love in her heart
Love, that in itself is enigmatic
Pulp in the fruit of all affinities
To ever exist in this world
Love cannot define, only enrich
Is she about the culture
One that is shackle to the cries of freedom
The tagging factory humanity has become
Seeking validation at every step
A cage-is what it is-crushing your will to live
How do I capture the soul of this lady on fire
Courageous, Unapologetic, Invincible
Does my brush of judgement have what it
takes to understand this Juliet
Do my colours of regression have what it
takes to fathom this Viola
Does my canvas of confinement have what it
takes to liberate this Ariel
The portrait of this lady will be drawn on stars
I drop my brush.
By Saina Suri, for the Trans Solidarity Fundraiser