Cruising Alone

  You may think you broke me with all the cruel words you spoke, but I have always been a Peacock. I leave those love-colored iridescent tokens everywhere I go. Everyone treasures them and makes them forever keepsakes, even if some of you would love to see me burn on stakes. And you may think you made me cry... but I am a Peacock—I thrive in those downpours... You went around lecturing me to focus on simple chores... while you were trying to grind for those plastic crores... But even the Goddess Lakshmi is often symbolized by a Peacock by her side... and even my name means Gold, and you dared to call me a gold digger... So, while you work in stealth, I am the source of never-ending wealth... Because I am a Peacock... A few have explicitly told me that would like to taste my muffins and cakes... But I am like those rare porcelain sets— not for folks like you with your ridiculous schemes and tests. And I am sure your binary brain would go "but Peacock is manly..." True... becau...

  You might crave your new woman’s touch, long for her embrace like a cherished clutch— but I have wanted to self-immolate because of your touch. Run around, claim you’ve won a jackpot , but it’s not rejection I fear— it’s your filthy gaze, your uninvited touch . You said you were being cruel to be kind? I’d love to press rewind. You begged for my love first, but now you chase another— just hunger, no soul. I know how it feels to be touched without permission . Yet, you—relentless—pressed me to submit, to erase my no as if it never existed. While you laughed, busy painting me as a rejected soul, I spent nights undoing every single touch . So go ahead, call me vile— but even after all that, I was good to you.

  So, you want to make me feel like a woman? Want to make it worth my while? Is that why you got that degree? Well, then you should know, That I am worth more than just a trophy. "But I am attracted to you" Why should I care? When I said I don’t crave you Or feel safe with you. The love I give is a treasure, And it is not for fleeting moments of pleasure... Why would I care if you only care for this body And try to buy me things that are way too gaudy... No matter how much you see me in your dreams Or want to taste that eternal stream... Go on and wonder about that cream, But I will always be a dream. I don’t need you to make me feel like a woman... I’d rather be a legend, untamed and uncommon.

  A boy came to me, asking— "Can you help me improve?" A boy who spent his drunken nights in the arms of a mistress, now claims he was always a good man. He asked me— "Why won’t you play my mother?" Why? Because your parents failed you and your brother? Because you need a woman to mop up your shame while you parade your masculinity and pretend you’ve changed? Well, people are filing FIRs for words filthier than yours. But what about you— the one who left my body wrecked and laughed as I fell? And now you say— "Let it be. Otherwise, who will buy you a lightsaber? Which man will claim you now?" Did that laughter and power disappear from your face now? When you said, "Get lost." When you hid behind your brother’s strength. When you ran, sneering— "Ah, is that why you’re causing trouble? Because you’re not getting money?" Wow. But sure. You are such an amazing man.

  You bow down to a woman, only to do her dirty, Preaching freedom while drowning in hypocrisy. You treat her right when your throat runs dry, Lust-driven hands, masked with a lover’s lie. Did you think she breathes for your vanity? You break her down, then mock her insanity. Does it thrill you, watching her question humanity, While you revel in the comfort of your profanity? You wear your sins like a crown of pride, Hiding behind walls where your cowardice resides. But doesn’t it burn when a woman plays you? Lucky for you, she’s not wielding swords— Or you’d beg for mercy before she slays you. Even Shiva had to bow to still Kali’s wrath— What makes you think you could do a woman dirty And she would go down easy? Me? I could inflict all the pain on you, Be it the trigger's pull or the dagger's kiss, But for now, I hope you die with a thousand cuts, And my words will be forever here— No ointment can heal the stings.

  Dancing under the moonlight, silky rose petals caressing my skin, seeing the reflection of sculpted form in the silver-glazed quartz. Engulfed in lavender smoke, there is only room for moans— not ugly cries. Who says I deserve love? I am Love. Fingers tracing all my curves, as if just learning to ride waves and surf. My lips, matching the shades of a rose, my eyes beaming bright— like pearly sea shells under the starry night. Who says I deserve love? I am Love. The silky tresses fall over my face, dew drops linger on my chin and lips, my torso covered in sacred oils, like a sculptor working hard to make his muse stand out. Who says I deserve love? I am Love.

  Where were these so-called boundaries when I was uncomfortable? When I mirrored your behaviour, suddenly I wasn’t normal? Oh no—seems like I "can't handle rejection"? Yeah, yeah, sure… Or maybe I stayed quiet so I wouldn’t create a scene? Tell me then, MR. GOOD CATCH — Why did you think it was alright to stalk my online profile, Inspecting who commented what? Were you not being a creepy little lurker ? But tell me—did you like the taste of your own medicine ? I guess not. When you can’t tolerate seeing your mother and sister suppressed, When you despise the toxic masculinity in a woman— Then why do you violate her vulnerability in the first place? Where did your laughter disappear when I jested, yaar? Why did you suddenly get so serious? Can’t take a simple joke? How sensitive of you. Maybe you’re overreacting… Maybe you should get a therapist yourself. Geez, have some control over your emotions, man. C’mon, give me a smile… You have such a pretty smile… I really liked ...

With that tiny trunk, you think you’re such a hunk, When in reality, you get passed around like junk. Did you honestly think those bags you carry hold Cheese Whiz? I had to throw away my sheets—what a mess that is. Do you feel proud of the fact you made me cry? Can you tell your in-laws, that you love making big girls cry? Why else would they jeopardize their daughter's life? "A girl who doesn't obey her father, how would she respect me?" Haha, says the one hosting booze parties— Umm, does your daddy know? Me? I learned that swagger from my father, And he stays with his woman, Not running like you to some clueless looker. You didn’t have the guts to face me, Tried to go behind my maker’s back— So don’t you dare come at me Or take my dad’s name in vain, Because you’re not even half the man. Maybe you need to impress with that bank balance, Because personality-wise, you’re an arse. Most people would choose a bear over men like you— Even a wild beast knows loyalty better...

  Labelling me as a failure, while you stand so fly— Did it not hurt when your father died, and you rushed to marry your sister off? But if you hurt me, does it matter? My father is alive, and I have no blood brothers. Oh, so you were just a kid? And who was I—Erin Brockovich? You felt so cool, asking me— "Have you not watched American Pie?" Now you brag about tasting continental sides, while calling me the one full of lies. Telling girls how they’re tight, how you’d want to do them when you're high as a kite. Did you really think you'd mess with me and I wouldn’t bite? "Are you asexual?" "Are you not finding someone else to sleep with?" Well, can you pass the phone to your mom? I’m sure she’s too tired, raising boys like you while your father left to have a heavenly fondue. Failure? No. That title belongs to the man too afraid to look me in the eye.

  Boohoo to your pity, I can't believe that your name means being virtuous to a certain degree. I can't believe I was so tired of creeps, that I was like whatever let it be. Seriously, the guy who was flaunting about sleeping with two naked women in dreams and I am the one who has lost it seems. Does she know you were bragging about the taste of her cookie? My true colours? Maybe this would make your face shine crimson red. I am weird? Boy, I shine with or without that blush. I am not that woman who ever wants your money, go pander to people who wanted to be your friend because your name was higher on that coder list. You think I was calculating to be your friend? I simply decided to be your friend. You think I couldn't see through the ways you were testing me? To see if I am a gold digger or if I can solve the question of tree. I do not talk in binary. Asking me if I can Google the term "Eat You." Fake? I was simply happy that you had less money as a kid and coul...

  So, you think just because you slept around, Twelve women deep to prove your masculinity, You can shame a woman? Boasting— at least you’re not a virgin? Tapping a woman just to show you’re a man? I guess you skipped chapters in decency and biology. There is no pride in that—be it man or woman. And yet, you preach about being the good guy ? Would your blood still boil if your sister was left high and dry? Or would you blame her— she should have built a home ? Do you think real women are pornstars? The audacity of men like you , Trying to explain a woman’s body to herself. Is your mother still teaching you this? That girl seduced you, enchanted you—for your money? Like seriously? If that were true, Even Fiona wouldn’t have been with the Ogre. You want feminine women, yet ask, do you like to touch yourself? Your mother warned you of gold diggers, But forgot to teach you respect for someone’s daughter? Spare your lectures when it comes to me, I was standing up for other girls— Aga...

  Keep your sins to yourself— Not your "Father" or "Mother" to cleanse, Not for me to swallow in silence, Your guilt is not my recompense. Don’t drag me through your self-made hell, Then act like you turned out so swell. Watch your filth, then touch with ease, And still pretend you’re pure as peace? Should I carve it on my skin? "Do. Not. Touch. Me."—would that sink in? Or will you still play dumb and blind, Like respect is too hard to find? If you wrong me, I’ll return the song, Sing it loud where it hurts the most. Tell your mother, warn your child— Let them know of your hollow ghost. So go, pray at temples, beg for grace, But I am a storm—you'll know your place.

  That sick limp d*ck attitude, Thought I should feel gratitude, That you chose me then, wanted me yours, While you had your hands on plenty, always out on all fours. “You’re so nice, I’d love to make you my wife,” What—because you’d already tasted the “cooler” life? Spreading your legs for every girl in your party phase, Now, you think I’m the one to settle and praise? You were quick to play the game, no hesitation in sight, But I’m just the afterthought, the one to make things right. So you admit it: treat women like disposable trash, But when that’s done to you, you get that rash. I won’t apologize for being real, For taking back the power you tried to steal. Go ahead, crawl back to your ex's bed, ‘Cause I'm moving on, without you in my head.

While watching the Grammy performance of Charli XCX on Disney+ Hotstar, I felt inspired to pen this playful yet sharp poem. This piece is a cheeky response to misguided views on masculinity—delivered with sass, wit, and a little defiance. Only see what you want to see, As if I should be putting a strap-on just to compete. Funny, how guys like you think it’s peak masculinity, When you make fun of a woman, laugh, as if you had her beat, And then go, "Hey, but I didn’t cheat." You think you're a Chad, And I’m the one with the Hatter, a little bit Mad. You think only you have access to the net, And then think that your little boy's attitude makes a woman wet. Like Ron, you have the emotional range of a teaspoon, And you can kiss my curvy moon. You live by seasonal trends, Thinking it’d be so easy to make amends. But you won’t even last a day in charm in the West Coast’s sun, 'Cause all you’re good at is Hit and Run.

  A guy like you— who boasts of conquests like trophies— dares to call me a psychopath? A guy like you— who measures his worth by body count— Do you  think you can shame me? A guy like you— who has built his pride on silencing others— believes he can shut my voice? You justify your choices, wrap them in excuses, but hold me to standards you’d never dare apply to yourself. And I am the one to blame? Men like you deserve no sympathy. Oh, you pity me? I do not need pity from a man drowning in his own bravado. The audacity— to tell me to "calm down," to label me hysterical, to say, “Don’t take it personally.” Your intentions were pure? Where was that purity when I said, I won't be able to take this anymore? Now you would go on and say you did everything you could? But aren’t you the one who was laughing, mocking me when I was in pain? I was never afraid to stand up— not as a child, not now. And I sure as hell won’t let you walk away unscathed. You tried to humiliate my very s...

  They say girls only want attention, When it’s the boys who thrive on the male gaze, craving validation. Flaunting their women like trophies in hand, Yet taunting them for taking a stand. They hide behind their veil of "good," While asking women to cover up from their filthy gaze. Try to act like men when you are in doubt, Yet shrink away when caught in a crowd. They speak loud but call us shrill, They break hearts yet say we kill. They say girls are "crazy," ruled by Jinn, I just hope their daughters don’t pay for their fathers’ sins. They mock our rage, yet steal our fight, Afraid of the fire we hold inside. But we are the storm they cannot tame, And we burn down their game. Boys like that asking, "Would you wear that in front of my mom?" Well, no, but does she know you drool over almost every naked woman? Acting as if God made them from a rare mould, When they are the ones who easily fold.

  Would you understand my situation, my choice? How could I? I am not you nor your voice. You want others to accept you as you are, But have you even accepted yourself for who you are? You say I’m like your mother, Or sometimes, I act like your brother. I may reflect the familiarity of those traits, But I am not your mother—never will be. I am my own person, just like you are. When you can’t understand yourself, Why impose your voice on me? Then you say, “Oh, I can’t generalize, it isn’t right”— So why should I dim my light? You’re human, not a machine, Yet you judged me— That laughable, smoke-screen test, When you can’t even talk maturely. I am not a test paper, not a multiple-choice, Where you say, “I fail” and you win, Or “I won” and you fail. Who is winning this? Tell me, who? Because, in the end… does anyone? "I liked you for who you were." "Do the same as you did before." "But I need someone who does more." I was not a teenager, and neither was your ...