Hiding In P(L)ain Sight

I learned to write,

With metaphors and similes by my side.

So, I could hide my pain,

Working in stealth mode like Cad Bane.

The flower in the garden wasn't any floret but it was me,

Struggling to bloom, dying within without a kaboom.

The cat wasn't any feline but it was me,

Too shy to reach, easy to preach.

It's funny, how you get applauded for the words,

When you never seem to fit in any of the herds.

Life was easy when playing with the surds,

And sorting colourful nerds.

Or is it all nostalgia too?

Because I wasn't memorizing equations for fun,

It was so I am not undone.

Was I ever only a child?

Or something happened, that I turned out wild.

Go ahead and try to read between the lines,

Because when I shouted and screamed,

They said, enough with whines.

I kept my pie hole shut for so long.

And even when I speak up, they say I am in the wrong.

Maybe the pen is mightier than the sword,

Otherwise, have mercy on my soul, dear lord!

~ Kanika Kaushal ✨ The Luminous Muse

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Polished Sins

A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

Stay Away

Stay away, stay away Keep those hands away Stay away, stay away I am not on display Stay away, stay away I just want my name on the hard black clay Stay away, stay away I am a kid who just wants to play Stay away, stay away All these memories are like a never-ending screenplay ~ Kanika Kaushal ✨ The Luminous Muse

Model Men and Their Modern Myths

Here come the men who love their pride, With “culture” on speed dial, their mothers beside them. They want a wife who’ll light the lamp, While they scroll through pages of virtual vamp. They call themselves leaders, oh so wise, But sex ed is a topic they just despise. If you ask them about anatomy's flow, They’ll stammer, then boast about paychecks to show. Progressive now, they’ll have you believe, Because daughters study, and daughters leave The home to work—but don’t go too far, Or they’ll pull you right back by some invisible bar. They crave the respect, the honour, the fame, Yet when faced with real talk, they’re quick to shame. These "modern men" with their ancient views— One foot in the past, and the other confused. Oh, fools of entitlement, kings of the mud, With egos so fragile, they’re bound to flood At the slightest nudge of applied insight— They’ll laugh, then pull you out of their sight. So here’s to these men, these leaders so grand, With “values” in one, ...

Cruising Alone

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