Moon and Sun Play on Earth Green and Neutral

By Suranjan Jana

Moon and Sun play on Earth green and neutral . 

Her sacred neutrality dependent 

Upon an XX genotype decent , 

But who's Ze ? A question  very vital . 

The parrot in the green cage talks to zir . 

Ze is comely , but neither 'he' nor 'she' . 

The bird on zir left palm ne'er tries to flee , 

And whispers something into zir left ear . 

A human is Lily ,born  on a night . 

Who 's ze ? To this day doesn't ze really know . 

Ze feels one unlike the mother , somehow . 

The nine-month  vain womb been seeking a knight . 

Lily , a white lily , is a four-year     

Old kid ,and was born on a new moon night . 

A posthumous chick , born to face tough fight 

To all zir babbles turn all a deaf ear . 

When in the cozy womb just a fetus , 

Ze lost father , a florist by calling . 

That's why zir name is Lily , a leapling . 

On father's grave has ze got a huge crush . 

Lily is a third standard in zir teens . 

Mum , a widow , empowers her living 

Thro' embroidery and seeks God's blessing ,

And the hapless spouse had she lost long since . 

A flower bisexual is the lily 

Aquatic  , but our Lily  - a human . 

Ze identifies zirself a rare man , 

When in the teens , of course , a phase silly . 

Lily dropped out of school very early . 

Ze inherited one pollen , gratis , 

And , iwis , infused with hard 'n' soft traits , 

And looks awkward but awesome and godly . 

Lily  is 'yond the binary spectrum , 

And stands still in between 'she' and 'he' now . 

The brakeless spring can't at ease draw out 'wow' ! 

From zir throat , tho' the heart beating a drum . 

Science  does know better ' Who're non-binary ?

' But why they're featured so ! No due answer . 

On our festive beach are they trespassers . . .

No right , 'haps, to recite the Rosary . 

In recent times arose a stigma high 

Against zir for being a compound , Rare ! 

One judges others by the underware ; 

Zir local texture earns only ‘ Fie ! Fie  !’ 

All humans are dependants radiant , 

But some indulge themselves with a rock band , 

And never care the remainder in hand . 

A whisper may be  a note resonant . 

When our Holy Scriptures remain silent 

About non-binary graftings , sorry 

To voice , our reckless drive does not worry

A whit . But they’re a bright symbol pregnant . 

Springtime does boost our energy level , 

And we taste her goodness in every touch . 

Lily peeps as though a chick in the hutch . 

Still, ze feels attached to the womb novel . 

Lily – an unbaked minim with sense coarse 

Nature is an eighteen- year bride mirthful . 

Thro’ tender twigs blowing the breeze healthful , 

There’s all catchy all around in due course . 

Nature in vernal phase shapes glamorous . 

Lily’ has neither a beard nor a curl . 

Ze’s with winged dreams .but ze must not unfurl . 

Them , ze’s a covert for a ‘ Y ‘ surplus . 

Spring arrives with the romantic cuckoo . 

The bony mind rejuvenates itself . 

But Lily can’t play the flute by zirself . 

None approach to play on zir piano . 

Our Nature proves to be  of beauty pied . 

No hue or cry heady arrests zir eyes . 

The tunes of zir violin fade all dyes . 

Ze’s to the critical pole tightly tied . 

The season cycle keeps in view the needs 

Of all creatures . But young spring with her hues

 Unbosoms to all suitors scenic views . 

A thirsty bosom on worm touches feeds . 

Lily , all-round , not just a funny goon . 

Ze abates our carnal brute in the breast . 

Like us, ze too dreams of a cozy nest . 

Let’s go to let zir out of the cocoon . 

Lily does face all the facets unkind . 

For , ze’s one of a kind  , a touchy shape . 

When a nosey Parker winks , ze goes ape . 

True , none must run after a patchy hind . 

Spring pretty is called the ‘Queen of seasons’ . 

But few artists paint Blood Moon on canvas . 

A gibbous moon has no standi , locus . 

The Trinacria isn’t ‘yond all reasons . 

Lily took birth with ambiguous marks . 

Albeit a negligible human , 

Ze coverts soft loam coloured and humane 

To be sprinkled o’er zir and no remarks . 

Lily isn’t a witch from behind the sights . 

Ze’s ,for sure , the live dream of a womb-shell . 

A touch , three cheers and a ten-by-ten cell 

That deprive us from perceiving zir plights . 

All festivals during holy Spring meant  

For binary pals , who’re in lavish mood . 

Whyn’t for zir at dusk a bowl of stale food  

Or just two pence ? Spring heads for a mean mint . 

God hath unfathom’ble authority 

O’er all et also o’er mighty Nature . 

But Nature painteth a caricature ,  

And we’re subject to Her false vanity . 

O black Crow , can’t you  be vocal for those 

Leftovers ? Too bitter to earn hatred . 

In spring all date et dine honey and bread . 

Lily’s just one green parrot to propose . 

Lily stands last alone , facing the east . 

No bread if there be no fungus called Yeast . 

One healing touch greater than two lips sweet . 

‘ Be no cloak , but a hankie to wipe sweat ‘ . 

Lily stands out like Hermaphroditus 

And not be a carnivorous Venus . 

By Suranjan Jana