Cruising Alone

Ever felt like someone only saw the surface of who you are, missing the deeper truths that make you whole? This poem speaks to the frustration of being overlooked, of giving so much while someone only takes what’s visible. It’s about longing for someone who truly sees you, beyond the surface and into the depths. You came in for the Star Wars lore, Watching me dress up, a rebel to adore. I danced and I sang, you shouted, "Encore!" But you never looked deeper, just stayed at the shore. I saw it all on your face, every time I showed grace, But you missed the iceberg, the hidden space. You measured my worth by what I could give, As if love’s a transaction, the way we all live. You didn’t see the storms I’ve braved, The oceans I’ve crossed, the nights I’ve saved. I know we were never meant to be, But why, oh why, did you do that to me? Why did I beg, why did I plead, When I knew the lines, the script, the greed? In a play of lies, where truth is rare, I hoped for more, but you did...

  You say you want a normal woman? Well, I never asked for a man who thinks Thirteen thousand on an escort’s the way to flex, As if his daddy’s pension grows on trees, Spending like there’s no tomorrow, no regret. A guy who drooled over every woman in his class, Asking me if I can even pronounce Mont Blanc— So you're gonna shame me for my past, When it’s you who can’t go a day Without that up-down-left-right glance, Eyes roaming, never satisfied? You want to judge me? For what— My history? Boy, I was never scared to own my sexuality. It’s you men who quiver at the idea of a woman who owns her power, While you fake confidence in the corners, Clutching to your fragile masculinity, Scanning, comparing, always measuring. Come at me with everything you've got, I’ve cried enough, rolled on the floor like a wombat, Fighting my tears with fists and scars, But I still rise, still shine, still own it all. Breaking every stereotype they gave me, Not delusional—just loving the hype. Maybe,...

Sometimes, the world around us feels like an unrelenting storm. People may doubt us, try to tame us, or even shackle our spirits. Yet, amid all this external chaos, the loudest critic often resides within—our own inner voice. It’s the voice that magnifies our fears, punches harder than anyone else, and tells us we're not enough. Ever noticed how comparing yourself to someone else’s progress makes you forget your own? How the fear of confronting your shadows and challenges can make you shrink away from your potential? In those moments, when the weight feels unbearable, it’s time to say it out loud: “Silencio, Bruno!” (Yes, Disney-Pixar fans, you’ll catch my drift!) Sometimes, the real battle is silencing Bruno in our heads—the one that whispers doubts louder than dreams. For me, this poem is also a reminder of my name, Kanika. Just as a diamond starts as a humble atom but emerges dazzling and unbreakable, I too strive to refine and justify my essence. So here’s a piece that’s not j...

  You brushed off my life as if I were reading from a book, A bedtime tale that barely made you look. You tossed out words like “facade” and “smoke-screen test,” As if I were a cog, a machine at best. If I were fake, then who would craft a thousand words? Diving deep into psychology, where truth is blurred. From astrology’s wisdom to spirituality’s light, I searched for answers in the quiet of the night. Through tarot’s whispers and Peterson’s mind, Through Sadhguru and Prashant I’d find— The Bhagavad Gita’s ancient lore, To know myself, to seek something more. A thousand talks, a thousand books, All just to figure out where I stood, where I looked. I sifted through every memory, piece by piece, To find the truth, to find some peace. But lost in shadows, how could I speak? Was I the fake? Or was I too weak? I had to work through the darkness, face each shadow, Even dive deep into the dark side of Kundalini's sorrow. Trauma, pain, it all flowed through, I searched for understanding,...

Have you ever been underestimated by someone who thinks they can measure you by their own limited standards? This poem takes aim at those who reduce people to labels, stereotypes, and numbers. It’s a declaration of breaking free from their narrow definitions and stepping into your own power, as you reclaim your narrative. I’m done playing by your tired old rules, Go ahead, dip your pen in ink pots of dolls. Hide your random wealth in cryptos and shells, Your game’s just as shallow as the lies you tell. I make and break my own damn image, No labels are needed to pen my lineage. They shift with every word I speak, From prayers whispered to nights dressed chic. Oh, you flaunt, taunt, and rate me like a show, Boosting some TRP— but who even knows? While you brag about code and your so-called might, Acting like God’s gift to JavaScript nights. Stick to your numbers, your screens, and your tests, Your zeros and ones—there, you’re the best. But out here, in the world of flesh and soul, You co...

  This question haunts countless bright, educated women , paralyzing them with self-doubt . The casual use of labels like “psychopath” and “nutjob” against women in our society is appalling and harmful . These words are often weaponized and hurled without regard for the psychological damage they cause. At first, I might have dismissed such terms as isolated incidents of cruelty. But these accusations aren’t rare; they echo in the lives of women I admire— intelligent, empathetic, principled women . They, too, have found themselves battling these labels, often for nothing more than expressing their thoughts , asserting boundaries , or reacting to disrespect . This isn’t just a personal struggle; it’s a systemic issue , a reflection of fragility in those who resort to such labels. The Ease of Dismissal Terms like “psychopath” and “nutjob” are more than insults—they’re tactics . By throwing out these labels, some men discredit women’s feelings , opinions , and individuality witho...

Have you ever carried the weight of the world, even when you were just a child? This poem reflects on the journey of shedding old burdens—reclaiming strength after years of giving too much. It’s about stopping the cycle of sacrifice for others and finally choosing self-love and freedom. I am hanging these vigilante boots of mine, No longer the silent watcher, the quiet spine. Morality carved deep in my soul’s skin, I stood up as a child, though the odds were grim. A mere child, shouldering weight not my own, Shielding others from the pain I’d known. For those who took all I had to give, But choked on the thought of my joy to live. My empathy, their tool for hidden schemes, Harming, hurting, tearing apart my dreams. They asked for my love after breaking my core, And called me insane when I asked for no more. I once believed love should have no gate, No matter one’s past, no matter their fate. But their greed turned my heart into a bitter ache, Surrounded by hands that only take and take...

"Winter’s Tale" - A Song of Betrayal and Rediscovery Set against the quiet chill of a Bangalore December, this piece tells the story of a young woman who, for the first time, let her guard down, only to be met with betrayal. Written in the rhythm of a song, it captures the fragile beauty of trust, the sting of abandonment, and the fierce resolve to rise again. It’s a journey through cold endings and the warmth of self-discovery. Verse 1 He couldn’t believe, someone loved him so, A heart laid bare, but he let it go. Played his games, kept his cards down low, Then threw out names in a cruel little show. Chorus Promises grand, but always a no-show, Words so cold, like the winter snow. He laughs at me, with his Ho Ho Ho, But the truth will shine, let the whole world know. Verse 2 He chased the cash, he chased the fame, But his empty heart just fed the flame. A victim’s mask, his favourite game, While I fell apart, drowning in pain. Chorus Promises grand, but always a no-show, Wor...

Inspired by the quiet intensity of " La Petite Mort" , this piece seeks to weave the sensations of release, stillness, and renewal into the natural world. The ocean’s rhythms—the pull of tides, the storm’s fury, and the calm that follows—become  a reflection of the feminine experience, where every ebb and flow carries the weight of life, death, and rebirth. Beneath the velvety amethyst sky, The warmth of candles mirrors the stars up high. Fireflies flicker with the same gentle glow, Their light a dance, warm and slow. Lavender thrives where the waves kiss the shore, Its fragrance carried through the air, wanting more. Aroma fills the chamber, sweet and pure, Like coastal breezes, soft and sure. The tide stirs within, gentle and deep, In a quiet rhythm, the body begins to leap. Like tectonic plates shifting far below, Emotions rise, the currents grow. The water swells, higher and high, Pulsing and crashing underneath the sky. A storm stirs within, fierce and untamed, The waves...

Have you ever been told you don’t have the right to your own body, voice, or truth? This poem is a defiant response to those who use power, wealth, and manipulation to silence the soul. It’s a powerful declaration that no matter how much they take or distort, your spirit remains untouchable. How often do we allow others to think they can own us, only to realize that, in the end, our souls cannot be taken? You want wealth and power to shield your pride, To silence the shame of what was done To the man, you call your house’s spine. What makes you think you can dangle Toys and jewels, lusting for flesh, To snuff out my voice— A voice you call delusional, Wrapped in dreams of cinematic love? You say you’ve seen the world Through “practical” eyes— What makes you think I was born blind? Blind to the rot and the predator’s games, Blind to the weight of being prey In this filthy, rigged charade? Yes, I cried into the night, Hating the sacred wounds on my body You dared to glorify. But even the...

This year has been monumental for female pop music, with icons like Taylor Swift, Sabrina Carpenter, Billie Eilish, Ariana Grande, and Rosé leading the charge. Taylor's Eras Tour became one of the biggest and most impactful tours in history, a celebration of her entire career and the music that defined multiple generations. Sabrina Carpenter gave us her hit album Short N Sweet , filled with catchy tunes and heartfelt lyrics. Rosé’s collaboration with Bruno Mars on "APT" brought a smooth blend of pop and R&B, and Ariana Grande stunned us with her insane vocals as Glinda in Wicked , proving yet again why she’s one of the greatest voices of our time. These women crafted anthems that delved into themes of love, self-discovery, and the connections that bind us all. Inspired by their unforgettable music, here’s my short poem—a little ode to the magic of love, discovery, and the melodies that make life feel like a beautiful journey. The unspoken words between you and me, Un...

In an era where education is often equated with enlightenment , I find myself reflecting on a disheartening reality. Despite being educated in some of the most esteemed institutions in our country, there are still men who carry with them deeply ingrained regressive mindsets — a mindset that sees women not as equals but as possessions , beneath them. This poem is born out of my own personal experiences , where I have encountered men who possess incredible academic talent yet remain shackled by internalized misogyny . For a long time, I was blinded by my own personal and emotional struggles . My own experiences with inequality and misogyny shaped how I viewed the world, and I found myself falling into familiar patterns , even favouring certain stereotypes and justifications. But as I grew, I began to realize that this might not be an isolated case . This pervasive issue extends far beyond individual experiences — it’s a systemic problem that needs to be addressed on a grand ...

  Before you call me crazy, Know the words he whispered in the dark, Venom laced with sweetened tones, That left invisible marks. “Are you not getting someone else? Are you asexual?” he’d pry, A restless soul in shadowed halls, Yet in the light, a saintly guise. He preached respect for mothers, daughters, While tearing others’ pride apart, Claiming love for his sister’s honor, But crushing someone else’s heart. “I want a dumb girl, one who obeys, Your fire’s too fierce,” he’d jeer, A mind unchained was his weakness, A truth he’d smother in fear. So, before you call me crazy, Know the truths I had to see, A man of masks and contradictions— But I broke free, and now I’m me.

Do you ever feel like you were underestimated, or worse, dismissed, because of your strength and resilience? This poem speaks to the experience of a woman who has been silenced, hurt, and minimized by those who failed to see her true worth. But through it all, she rises. Have you ever had to stitch together your own strength, learning to love and rise on your own terms? I did not have to wait for silver threads To lace my hair, Before boys echoed, "What do you have to offer?" "Why should I care?" These men, they mourn and rage, Clench fists at fate, They curse the hands that failed to save, When the “man of the house” grew frail, Yet in my youth, my pulse, my fire, They cut, they chipped, they tried to tame, And when I bled, they turned away, Left a heart too young to bear the shame. But I have learned to hold my own, To stitch the wounds they left behind, To find the beauty in the scars And keep my spirit kind. What do I have to offer? More than they’ll ever know, ...

This poem is an ode to the resilience, strength, and boundless spirit of women. By intertwining the five elements—Earth, Fire, Water, Air, and Ether—it reflects the essence of femininity: grounded, fierce, adaptable, free, and connected to the universe. It serves as a powerful reminder that women are not defined by societal expectations or singular roles, but by their ability to rise, rebuild, and rediscover their true selves, time and time again. You are the Earth, solid and steady, The foundation of life beneath your feet. Even when the ground quakes, When fault lines threaten to divide, You root yourself deeper, Drawing strength from unseen reserves— A lineage of love and courage Etched into the soil of your being. You are the Fire, fierce and untamed, A blaze that consumes and creates. Your rage lights the night, Your warmth cradles the broken. They call your passion “too much,” But you refuse to dim. Your voice, forged in flame, Burns through the silence. You are the Water, fluid ...

This poem calls out the hypocrisy and double standards that persist in the way society views gender roles and expectations. It tackles the challenge of reversing the narrative where men’s actions are often shielded, while women are blamed for their strength and independence. The poem challenges the idea of "reversing the roles" and demands fairness and respect in all aspects of life. Now you lecture me on "reversing the roles," How would it feel if a man bore these tolls? Men have always done this, always taken their share, But now you can't handle a taste of what's fair. You shield their wrongs, these sons, fathers, and uncles, Teachers and friends, their sins in your circles. You speak of respect while they tear us apart, Demanding from us what they lack in their heart. Blame me instead for walking alone, For trusting too freely, for leaving my home. You call me naive for not seeing with scorn, But why should I bear the cynicism you're worn? The world...

I’ve been the one who carried the weight, stretched myself thin, and poured every ounce of my being into others. As a woman, I’ve been expected to give—without question, without hesitation—overextending, overcompensating, always trying to be the source of comfort, the one to sacrifice. But no more. No more will I risk my life, my energy, or my soul for anyone who does not reflect the respect and care I deserve. From now on, I will not stand up for you if it comes at the cost of my peace. I will not fight your battles when my own are left bleeding. I am not responsible for fixing your chaos, carrying your burden, or mending your broken pieces. I am not here to soothe your pain, to make you feel better at my expense. I am done being the one who stands at the edge, putting myself in harm’s way for your comfort. As a woman, I am finally learning the power of saying “No.” I am learning to protect myself with the same love I have freely given others. I will no longer sacrifice my health, my ...

There was a time when I was deeply sceptical of sharing my voice—my words, ideas, and most vulnerable thoughts. The fear of being judged, misunderstood, or rejected loomed over me like a shadow. But writing, especially journaling, has always been my safe space, a refuge where I could pour out my raw emotions and untangle the clutter of my mind. In the quiet of my pages, I could breathe freely, without fear of judgment or interruption. Journaling became a way to create and reflect—an intimate practice that allowed me to unravel the layers of limiting beliefs and negative patterns I didn’t even know I carried. It was through this act of letting my soul bleed into the paper that I began to see the truth of who I was, the places I was holding myself back, and the strength I had all along. No wonder they say the pen is mightier than the sword; words, after all, can move mountains. I’ve always been in awe of artists and painters whose emotions leap off the canvas, and whose work speaks in wa...

This poem is a fun exploration of the magic in our hair and how it mirrors the moods and transformations we go through. Each day, a new persona! Before I let the world see me, My magic mirror runs the show. Every strand tells a story— Every twist is a mood to throw! Sometimes, honey, I'm Medusa, Serpent tresses full of sass. Cross me wrong, and with one glare, I'll serve you that stone-cold pass. Other times, I’m sweet like Bubbles, Ponytails bouncing, full of cheer. Check the mirror—smile approved! World, I’m coming, loud and clear. Experiment? You bet I do— Bangs like every Disney star. Cue the sitcom, roll the laugh track, I'm the main event by far! Jasmine vibes? Volume rocking, Locks that shine and sashay. A dance of midnight silk and gold, Turn heads, then float away. Or maybe I’m Ariel, lost in songs, Dinglehopper through my hair. Dancing waves and mermaid dreams— A carefree magic in the air. Ursula phase? I own the room, Cruella’s edge is fierce and bold. Or Yzma in...

This poem reflects on the silent struggles women endure and the scars they carry—often hidden—yet powerful in their strength and resilience. Why must I, a woman, tuck away each scar, Keep battles buried, no matter how far? Does it shrink me, weaken my worth, To wear these marks of the wars I've birthed? I’ve seen these boys with heads held high, Boasting of strength if a fever goes by, Or chest out, proud, from some shallow scrape, While I’m asked to silence each wound, each ache. They tell me to smile, not show the cracks, As if my pain’s a burden, or grace I lack. Yet I’ve stood through storms that would have them yield, Facing each fury with no sword or shield. Why should I pretend, cover the truth, When I faced battles alone, in my youth? Every scar I wear is a badge, a name, A testament, not of shame, but flame. So no, I won’t hide or cast them away— These marks are proof of the dues I pay. I’m woman, I’m warrior, wounded but whole, Bearing tales of courage, wearing them bold....

I've seen how the stereotypical male mindset has shifted over time, but still, so many carry the same ego-driven attitudes, disguised in new forms. It’s as if nothing has changed, just the packaging. I can't help but question—when will this outdated thinking finally fade? Behold the Desert Ego of old, With pride so grand, with heart so cold, Who laughs at hearts and eyes that weep— As if feeling’s a weakness, for those too deep. He points his finger, judges with glee, "How dare you love? How weak you be!" Yet when we point to his little sins, He stammers, “I’m human—just where to begin?” Oh yes, the righteous, who preach and pray, Then sign deals with devils to get their way— With hands clasped tight, they're holy on display, But slip into shadows when it suits their way. Ambition! He’s got it, can’t you see? A drive so fierce, it’ll set him free! But spare us, please, your noble bribe, When all you chase is your name’s own vibe. He laughs at dreamers breaking mol...

There’s a sensual rhythm that we often ignore, hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be explored. It’s more than just physical—it's about connecting with every part of ourselves. Can you feel that connection? The notes I discover, beneath the silk covers. All these octaves seamlessly blend together. As the moonlight seeps through my window, The gentle breeze flowing over my curves, slow. The rhythm of my body—I feel the flow, A whisper within that only I know. My fingers glide like a feathery trace, Awakening each vein in a soft embrace. Back and forth, I move like waves, Riding the crest of every crave. Fluid, undulating, a gentle tide, Where pleasure and pulse, effortlessly collide. Sometimes, it's the quietest movements that tell us the most about who we are. How do you tune into your own rhythms, your own sensations?

It’s hard when you give so much of yourself, only to watch others discard it like it meant nothing. But there’s a fire inside that no one can take away. How do you reclaim your light after someone’s departure? Some people don’t care who they hurt, Chasing pleasures with hearts inert. They leave behind pieces, broken trust, While I’m left grieving, swept like dust. I gave my soul, my love so true, But they just played, then bid adieu. Their hearts were rusted, cold, unkind, Seeking magic I’d confined. They moved on, roles neatly played, While I stayed lost in what we’d made. They took my light, then walked away, Leaving shadows in my day. But I’m not dust to blow apart; I know the strength within my heart. They can’t steal the fire I hold— Even rust can’t dim pure gold. Even in moments of heartbreak, there’s a resilience we often forget to acknowledge. How do you rise after others have tried to dim your shine?