Hey, I’m not going to wish you
Happy Somebody’s Day,
Because my wishing is as much a trifle
As your definition by genitalia;
Because you choose to be my cravings in bizarre ways —
Ungodly sounds, when I want to break away,
Holy scriptures when I’m cast away,
Unrest of my beginnings,
And the cozy couch when I’m done.
The relish of my food when I’m hungry,
Trash bin, when I’m overfed;
The wittiest chatter when I’m bored,
Silence between my distant realities — dreams, I mean;
Weight of the trophy when I win,
And the Wings of agony when I lose.
Because you choose to be my existence in bizarre ways —
Passport, Social Security Number, Aadhar, Job, Money,
And all that raise the worth
Of my definition by genitalia,
All that make me a Bird;
Hamlet of my decisions,
Arjuna of my dilemmas,
The Joker of my failings,
Batman of my desires,
Can of chilled beer,
Every moment. Every living moment.
No, I’m not going to… I mean,
Wish you a Happy Sombody’s Day,
Because my wishing —
it’s just another trifle
When you choose to be.