To The Boy Who Mistook Me For His Mama

How often do we give our warmth and care to those who never truly value it? When does a woman’s kindness turn into a force of reckoning?

To the boy who saw a mother
In my warmth, my care, like no other—
You leaned in close, wide-eyed and free,
Sipping on love like sweet honey tea.

Did you think I’d raise you strong,
Hold your hand, hum you a song?
Feed your dreams and stroke your pride,
While you danced in and out like the tide?

I gave you light, a mother’s grace,
Held your fears, kept steady pace—
But look here, darling, make it clear:
This mama’s wrath is near and dear.

If babes of mine I’ll never hold,
Then I’ll craft a payback, fierce and bold.
For every tear, for every sigh,
For every heart, you left high and dry.

I’ll be the thorn in every scheme,
The storm that floods your sweetest dream—
Not ‘cause I’m broken, cold, or bare,
But ‘cause I’m fire in the midnight air.

So cheers to you, who played the part,
Wore my kindness like a borrowed heart—
But mama’s done, and oh, beware,
For I’m the storm in your smooth air.

When kindness is used as a tool for manipulation, do we not have the right to rise up? How do we reclaim our strength from those who take us for granted?

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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