The Other

I submitted my application
The gender column said female
And a reluctant hand wrote my citizenship

Under nationality.
 
It was interview stage was set
a spotlight gleamed,
“what’s your nationality?”
The question loomed

“I am occupied.”
 I replied.
The blank stares that followed,
were not unfamiliar

The faces were new
with the same old captions:
“The Other”
 
My identity had a hole in it.
My passport said something
And I
Something else!
 
I didn’t fit the lines
Queues were made for nationalities
I was looking for forced passports,
and occupied territories.

We were pushed into lines
Commands wielded like batons.
Or was it batons like commands?
It was all the same
Announcements were threats!
Detention centres, the waiting rooms.

I rushed to a corner 
Right then a man yelled from behind
“You’re a girl!”
Another thing to keep in mind.
 
Now I had to look for the queue
For the Second Sex
For I was a girl
How dare I stood upright?
 
An improper comment 
flew at me.
It was thrown by a boy of fifteen!
Not a blink of an eye
Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all
Maybe it was just me.
 
But it was followed by whistle
And then another

I looked at the old lady beside me
And she gave me the old stare
The captions said: The Other.