ONE MORE TIME

​One more time,

I want to hear grandma’s tales which took me to paradise but this time, I won’t return.

One more time, 

I want to run at a pace which was never the fastest but this time, I still won’t stop.

One more time,

I want to wear those shorts that exposed my saggy thighs but this time I won’t feel ashamed.

One more time, 

I want to ask that doubt which made me look foolish but this time I won’t care.

One more time,

I want to be asked what makes me happy and this time, I won’t try to fit in!!!

Advertisements

MASCULISM

Poets were weaving magic with lexicons that were the delirium of the streets; writers rekindling the same. “There is something wrong”, a boy with a baffled expression on his face quipped from the ghetto of lovers of all sorts… The drunkards, the mavericks, the hysterics and the sob story tellers.

He hated how his brothers were being hated for women who were trying to fit into sizes, most of them didn’t ask them to. Crashing on the floor while dieting, they got up just to accuse, “It’s you for whom we do that”.

Men were the crass of cacophony and the buzz of all loathful songs. 

And then, narrations were soaked in idealism; to elevate men and, to redeem men. To redeem them from the racist outfits of “the darker sex” which no one ever questioned.

They refurbished facts, smashing details on anyone who tried to default.  

“Men are called so only if they have a penis.”

 “Correct”, they approved.

“A man feels like a MAN only if the elongated penis makes its way up til the cervix.” 

“Foul! Sexism!!!”, they winced.

One among them marked another fury, thereby demanding his rights: 

“Alimony looms over me worse than banks seeking mortgage”

Etiquettes in the name of “Ladies first…” drained their time and energy very often, they complained with sore feet (after waiting for long in queues). 

Sexual abuse is always horrific. ‘Men empowerment movements’ and pressure groups were lost as were the ‘men’s protection rights’; thereby tying a noose around justice and fair treatment.

And in the end, when they lit cigarettes to protest against being robbed of freedom… They were laughed hysterically upon owing to the ruins (female suppression) by their ancestors. 

GROWTH

​When tendrils are wound around a string, growth results as formulated but is restricted and slow. It’s scientifically proven that for rapid growth, they should just be.

When kids are left to themselves, more the most they fail in being the stereotypical products but perhaps, they GROW.
We see them in girls squatting whilst forming the greatest possible angles at hamstrings, in boys who shave their legs and mavericks who chant loudly. We call them crazy/lunatic/indecent and trash them off.
Then we tune into videos of ‘the doers’ who submerge the following in neon colors such that no one sidelines it: “They’re the rebels, the misfits, the crazy ones… Who have and will always continue to DO things because they persist with their foolishness through the ordeals and never doubt themselves”. And the least and the most we then do is, nod our heads with that CEO/artist/sportsperson.

Notorious Nostalgia

​If we would have lacked the ability of carrying nostalgia then losing someone would’ve been less painful.

Think about this: When you die and stop breathing all at once, I won’t have to cry woefully recalling how you snored which were also “breaths” that I underrated till the time you were alive. As your nostrils would be stuffed with cotton buds to prevent the corpse from bloating, I wouldn’t have to sit there wondering how much sweat you’d drenched yourself in to prevent that belly from bloating. While the mob would embellish your funeral pyre with choicest “flowers”, I won’t have to regret not buying you the most fragrant “flowers” such that you could have blossomed with them whenever I took you to orchards and florists.