Wounded Feminine

I am the child of both—the wounded feminine,
The scarred masculine; two sides etched in pain,
Bound in a dance where darkness clings,
To the marrow of my being, carved in silent strain.

Battles rage beneath my skin, where shadows coil,
My Hydra heart, a Cancer Moon’s tide,
Swollen with secrets it can barely contain,
Each head I cut, another ten arise.

I tried to soothe one wound,
Only to find another seeping through the cracks,
The more I see, the less I know,
This maze is endless, and the map fades black.

Glimpses of wisdom glow like dying stars,
Too distant to light my path, but there, still—
A fleeting touch, a whisper of what could be,
Yet I stumble through this cavernous will.

The darkness spoke with a voice I feared,
But in the echoes, I felt a distant fire’s grace,
A light at the cave’s end, faint but true,
And still, I wander, lost in this twisting place.

For every step forward, the maze shifts anew,
Its walls breathing, alive in my descent,
Yet I push on, seeking a truth,
A home in the wounded, where all paths have bent.

I am healing, though slowly, unravelling the chains,
But even as light flickers, my shadows remain.
Still, I walk forward, step by step, breath by breath,
Carrying both darkness and dawn in my chest.

For the wounds may linger, but so does the fire,
A quiet blaze that grows, refusing to tire.
And though I may never fully shed the night,
I am learning to carry both the wound and the light.

Comments

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

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.

Till You Sing

Some would say men went to war for women like you, But I would still choose war if it meant choosing you. You say you write in amorous lines, But I would let you be the woman of my tribe. You had your adventures Under The Buda Moon, But have you been loved past noon? So I can see you shine like a magical flower, In the quiet warmth of the golden hour. The invisible strings pull at my heart Can I do justice to your name? Caress you right, Till you sing like a Carnatic hymn. Inspired by the author of Under The Buda Moon, Veena Rao

Cruising Alone

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