Ode to the Desert Ego

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 I can't help but question—when will this outdated thinking finally fade?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 molds,
Dismisses the young who won’t be told—
Yet clings to his fame like moths to flame,
Desperate to carve out his precious name.

So here’s to the ones with perfect grace,
Who’d sell out their souls to save face—
Let’s raise a glass to the pure, the pious,
Who won’t admit they’re just like us.

It feels like some men are still clinging to the same ideals they’ve been taught, just in different clothes. How do you think we can challenge this cycle, or has it become so ingrained that change is impossible?

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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