Why Do Men Cry?

Why Do Men Cry?

Why do men cry?
O, but men do not cry.
Ooops, my bad, wrong question!
Of course men do not cry;
how else can they be called the man?

 

I meant to ask, why do male humans weep.
For grief, you say, alright and pain,
sorrow, loss, or by any other name
we may call a heartache?
Perhaps, in brief, for all the reasons a female
human might? But of course
the social construct known as Man,
the very image of God, it is often claimed,
how can it cry and still maintain
its self-imposed godliness; no, men do not cry!

 

Rather, men prefer to hunt, and plunder,
and men would love to shed their blood and die,
for a cause they have decided to believe,
and often loot and rape, upholding the said cause!

 

But woe! The thing men truly love
in their hearts, more than all of these combined,
is the role as writers of what
the definition of a woman ought to be!

 

So, of course men can never cry.
But female humans can become men too
and in shame, the man in male humans too can die!


 

Love, Time & Death*

Love, Time & Death*
*This is a compilation of 3 unfinished poems…

 

I. Love
   

Love truly is incompatible with chains,
one must not utter love and obedience
in a single breath, neither love and compliance,
unlike a shrew, love can never be tamed!
    

Promising stagnation, love cannot be,
nor a memorandum of agreement
between hearts to keep bleeding like a saint
from stabbing doubts and sarcasms love is free!

II. Time
   

Time is a great healer, we say but how!
Can tomorrow ease the pain that is killing now?
It cannot hurt so much once we are gone
with the debts all paid what our life had loaned!

Perhaps the time that heals is not the time of hands
that move across the round, scribbled face behind
polished glasses, encased in platinum
but a different one that does not warp or bend!

III. Death
   

When the dead things
are coming back to life,
it hurts like hell,
almost as much as when
a life is snatched by Death
but o, an endless life
is more regretful than being dead,
ask Tithonus, how much he wants to die!


Image: The Endless Road by Ilia

Losing Her, Again

Losing Her, Again

  

Perhaps I’m losing her again
but I have grown weary of life as well,
of the recursion of sorrows and pain,
of the worthlessness of my deeds
and indifference when in a dire need!
Now my lips can smile even when I’m in a hell!
My eyes don’t, they have lost the glint
of happiness and joy, of hope and dreams!
I think you would have felt the same, had you
been losing life each year like me,
yes the taste of death is sweet, that I know
but the tanginess of rebirths outgrows them all!

    

Perhaps it is my destiny
to enact lord Tithonus for eternity,
an immortal love growing old,
wrinkled and weary, dying to exhale its final breath,
in the hope of a nirvana,
though locked in a cage like the Sibyl of Cumae!
If I were a ragged pair of claws
scuttling across the floors of silent seas,
would it have been easier to live my life
with this illusion of having
an ocean atop my negligible head!
O, how I wish I were a bird that sang, instead!

   

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Sleep Looks

Sleep Looks

Sleep looks so calmly on her divine face,
as bright and soft as the sun’s virgin rays!
She look more peaceful than a white dove,
as I bathe in her light  when I wake up!

   

The dark grey streaks on her sweet golden skin,
with sleep smeared on her divine innocence,
confuse me, perhaps I am still dreaming,
how on earth can such joys have permanence!

   

So I slash my arm to see if the pain
can be felt and know whether wounds can bleed,
when the dreamer is living in a dream again,
how do I know the blood that flows is true indeed?

      

If it’s a dream, then let me dream until my breathing lasts,
for love shall remain even when we have been turned to dusts!

        

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