Skip to main content

He Too Cries



Does he cry?
The beard on his face
And the biceps murmured.
Yes, he too cries,
The empty whiskey bottle
And the butted cigarettes protested.
He too has eyes,
of course,it produces tears
And not water.
The pent up suffocation and
Incomprehensible emotion
Combat for freedom.
Made one or two excuses,
Shut himself up for a day,
Cried for a long night,
Over the love of his life,
Over the wasted years,
Withered dreams,
Betrayed chums
Secluded failures
And the dead cat.
When your so-called wolf
Cries,
The ground neither shakes nor trembles,
The sky never falls.
The satellite society fails
To recognise the depressive males,
To console them
Or to embrace them
And to see a heart inside them.
The beast is not solely muscular,
'Femininity' weeps inside the dark lands of their hearts.
You have hammered the thoughts
That bald is not okay,
That intellect men are best
But it's okay to be You
It's okay to be different and imperfect.
You constantly jeopardize their identity,
Seeking them only in dominant
Seats.
Locking them up in staunch masculinity,
You engulf their expressive soul,
Producing caricatures.
But they would give you shocks,
They would cry and cry
Over their heart's demands.
Because there is a sheep in every wolf.

A.C

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Returning Souvenirs

  You say you can only offer friendship for my love,  I say l don't want it.  I want love,  love in big forms,  love that fills every atom around me,  Love that challenges every equation.  I thought you are the one,  the one with whom they would define people.  I'm just fine to ask you to return everything,  Everything that I gave as souvenirs of my love,  Which you received as a friend.  Starting from my starings and nights waiting for your responses.  I turned to be someone I was not, for you,  I spent my time, analysing and making hypotheses on you.  So return my brain cells used for that,  the blood that rushed to my veins,  Every time I saw you.  I want my health and thoughts that I wasted for you,  The souvenirs of my love.  I have murdered my love for you,  One fine night,  I have buried the carcass of my love  In the gardens of hopelessly wandering ghosts.  The...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Lost Daughter - An Ode to Motherhood and Flawed Mothers

 Mothers are always praised and glorified for the sacrifices that they make and are called supermoms, if they find a balance with their family and work life. Movies have always portrayed mothers as either sacrificial or supermoms. But do all the mothers choose the same road?  Maggie Gyllenhaal's 'The Lost Daughter' speaks for all the flawed unnatural mothers. People who become mothers at an early age, who feel traumatized by the whole new version of themselves, who live in fear of losing their original identity in the run for creating one for their children, who make choices selfishly regardless of their children's needs. Leda in the movie, in fear of losing her individuality in the love for her children, takes a decision to focus on her career. She finds it as an amazing experience and embraces everything that she desired, peeling off the perfect mother image that she is supposed to keep.  When women are considered to have innate motherness in them, people don't re...
Post a Comment
Read more

Dear Gretta

  Dear Gretta,     Your songs are like a poem that was long forgotten, that gives a dejavu everytime I listen to it. It  reminds me of New York City where you felt alone, where you were ditched by Dave and where you found yourself through Dan. You were never ready to compromise, you  were fully conscious of what you were doing and never doubted your own instincts. Even when you felt a connection with Dan, you helped Violet to reconnect with him, bringing out the beautiful guitarist in her, which eventually got him back to his family. Yet you smiled for being the reason behind reuniting Dan with his family, you smiled even when you knew that this would leave you all alone again. You gave yourself truly into your songs that you could not tolerate the loss of its essence, the mere commercialization of it.  You breathed music, danced and walked with it. Even when you knew that those are fleeting moments, the moments in New York City where every song in you...
Post a Comment
Read more