No longer longing for
My mother’s milk,
Cutting off this umbilical cord.
No need for my father’s
Confirming gazes as this
Child is standing on its own.
Not a party to the peers’ chats
Or street chirpers’ gossips,
Or ego indulging chaps.
Take a dagger and cut off
My own heart and say
“This is our craft…..”
We settle down in our own
Blood, not in glory
But one heartache at-a-time.
Our castle’s foundation is but pain,
Cemented of teardrops, its illuminating
Chandelier not but the truth of
The bleeding heart’s light.
This journey, always in the making,
Its pain, its torchlight,
Its smile, as real as butterflies
When I fall in love.
