People don’t notice I am Greek
For my nose is roman,
Nor do they discern I am Iranian
For my eyelashes are short.
They do not suspect I am Ghanaian
For my skin is white and burns, under the sun,
All they know is I am a human
And still they wonder of which kind.
People need to cage me, place me in a box
Of countless labels they meticulously select
When the questioning begins. What’s your sign?
A Capricorn. Ah! Hard-headed and reliable, done.
What’s your sexual inclination? I don’t know,
I cherish all humans regardless of their sex.
Raising eyebrows interrogation deepens.
Do you have a boyfriend? No.
Why, what’s your problem? None.
Hmm, let me be more explicit, did you ever
Have a male lover? Yes, more than one. Good,
An heterosexual and a slut, done.
Do you have kids? Yes, two. A mother, done.
How old are they? Fourteen and nine.
You must be older than you seem.
Forgive my asking but how old are you?
Thirty-seven. Yes, that’s what I thought,
You started young. Courageous and reckless,
Done. Do you work? Yes, too much. Good,
A successful carrier, done.
What do you like doing in your free time?
I have none. Perfect, a Stakhanovite, done.
What are your passions? Writing poetries
And novels. Aha! A dreamer! Done.
But I also study astrophysics and indulge.
Oh my! Either a genius or a nut! Hmm…
Do you believe in God? I believe
In a bewildering Universe and the beguiling wonder
That is our existence within it. I am sorry,
There are no labels for that. What’s your religion?
One of love and respect, of decency and humanity,
Encompassing all. I see. A non-believer, done.
[Featured painting: Femme au béret et à la robe quadrillée (Marie-Thérèse Walter) by Pablo Picasso, 1937]