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Thank god, the phallus and the penis are not the same thing.

What this means is, phallus is a concept in the mind, the penis is an extended muscle between the legs of a human animal who is gendered male. Also, he is not someone, who proclaims that his gender is fluid and hence, really he cannot say, whether, that extended muscle ought to be there or not, because he himself is flowing this way or that.

No, I am talking of one, who was I think, though I have not seen it myself, one with the protrusion but rather gentle at heart, the type you can easily put into the ‘box’ called fluid.

But of course, amma would not like him at all. She’s this kind of person who has been holding fort – And forth, that this muscle hanging between the legs must be worshiped because, it is the producer, the thinker, the deliverer of our deliverance. Thus, every morning she stoops to place her heart and soul in the name of a penis, standing on a yoni (by the way, if you did not know what it means, is vagina) and prays that this may go on, for life after life. I mean that the extended muscle must continue to push its presence through the vagina. Such non-sense there! She is like one who would lie in bed and wait. As soon as she felt someone pull her big toe, she would rise and quietly submit to his wishes. This toe puller was usually her husband. Now, consider, what is it that made her submits with such docility, this pulling-toe habit? Her worship of the penis standing straight over the vagina of course!

Now, I who have a phallus in my mind am a woman. But the man I loved most in my youth was one who had a penis between his legs but was gender fluid. Imagine the pressure on his life, when, he was forced upon with a woman, whose thoughts were like, amma’s.

About him I would say, that his was a life of torture. Difficult damsels with hardened thoughts around objects such as penis obsession are as bad on gentle men, as hardened men, with only one thought in mind, that being a woman’s breast.

Conversation Piece

My Portuguese-bred colleague
picked up a clay shivalingam
one day and said:
Is this an ashtray?
No, said the salesman,
This is our god.

© 1979, Eunice de Souza
From: Fix
Publisher: Newground, Mumbai, 1979

http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poem/item/16098/auto/CONVERSATION-PIECE

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