POETRY

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.