I don’t mind being a spinster
Spinning, twirling, whirling, swirling in a tornado of stars conquering the galaxy
Like a Sufi
Harmonizing the sacred spiral dance to celebrate the divine in me
I can twerk too
But I will first knock on the window of your altered state of
Before intruding your geopolitical utopia with how my butt can really shake
I’d rather be a nun
And get myself thrown in jail for refusing to renounce the Dalai Lama
Than chanting the hypocritical words of the national anthem
I don’t mind being a cat-lady
For I’m used to the spoor of piss of Self-proclaimed gods marking their Territory
I’d rather you take a piss on me
Than being married off to one.
This is the land of our fathers, not theirs.
Use your womb as a weapon against the Enemy
We gotta maintain our votes !
Get it on and breed as many Buddhist babies
“We five and our 25”
You must not lose to over-fertile Muslim housewives.
I’ve fallen in love with a Muslim man whose anarchic nipple hair grew in random directions
Jesus looking Indian who inherited a slaughter house from generation to generation.
His favourite dish is a home-cooked Persian culinary concoction
Of casserole sized pieces of lamb
Red kidney beans
And mid-eastern preserved lemons
I googled the recipe
For I don’t mind cooking it although I’m pescetarian
I could’ve been a vegetarian
But I feel less attached to sea creatures.
He doesn’t mind not eating meat when I’m around
-You know what makes this connection we have more profound?
My halal-Jesus-looking butcher is a wacky inflatable sky dancer
Whose arms flail like a winged sea cucumber in the deepest part of the ocean
He moves in erratic directions
—Just like his nipple hair
Eyebrows try to keep up
Peeks from behind a pillar somewhere with a creepy smile before he comes to get me
Let me dance with him please, daddy.
He can probably twerk too.
© Illya Sumanto
This poem will also appear on The Woven Tale Press website as part of a feature on Activist-Poets on Monday, April 25, 2016.
View guest contributor Illya Sumanto’s bio HERE