Teenage

There once was a deer, sad and alone
But up above he heard a voice crone
Flying on his wings of black
A large crow landed on his back
“I have something that can help you, little deer
Come, I will show you, it is just over here.”
The crow then flew on the low summer breeze
And the deer followed, weaving through the trees
They soon reached a cave, dark and wide
And the deer entered, craving for his pride
The deer didn’t know, that hiding in the deep
A great evil Dragon awoke from his sleep
There soon was a roar, then a chilling crunch
And the crow flew off, to get the dragon’s next lunch.

When the world fell quiet, too loud to bear,
and no one else was truly there,
You stayed beside me, calm and true,
with eyes like ice that somehow knew.
No judgment passed, no words to weigh,
just steady warmth that did not leave.
You never tried to fix or mend—
You simply were my silent friend.
I spoke the things I could not share,
you blinked, you breathed, you did not stare.
You never answered, never flinched,
and still, my pain, you somehow pinched.
Your ears stood tall, your stare stayed still,
my quiet guard, so calm and true.
Your fur, a dance of black and white,
like twilight caught in morning light.
In that coat, so thick and proud,
You wrapped me up; you made me loud.
You have seen my tears without a sound,
and kept all secrets that you found.
You never turned your head away,
no matter what I had to say.
While others left, or did not see,
you simply stayed and breathed with me.
In your silence, I was heard,
no need for speech, no single word.
So here you are, with watchful eyes,
a loyal heart that never lies.
A soul who listens, soft and deep—
Who holds my hurt and guards my sleep.

Pain wasn’t when I cut my arms and punched myself to catch my breath.
The pain wasn’t when I had to get stitches.
The pain wasn’t when I got hit so hard; I blacked out.
Pain was when I was screaming and pleading
and begging for you to stop.
Pain was when I gave up.
The pain was when I lay there until he was done.
The pain was when I woke up the next morning
and had no memory of the night.
The pain was when I hid what happened from everyone.
The pain was telling my dad what happened.
The pain was watching his anger in his eyes turn to pity.

Is God watching us all
Does he judge his creations
Does he let us fall?

Does he create the problems we have to solve
Did he know that we would destroy and evolve
Does he want us to hurt
Does he want us to burn
Did he know how the earth like us would turn?

Is God the one watching us
Is he the one that we should trust
Is the devil in my conscience
Should I take him out
Should I confront?

God is forgiving
But of which god are you thinking
Zeus’s sin of adultery
His sisters they were sultry
Nobody is perfect
But God isn’t anybody

God laid the rules
But did he use us as tools?
We must obey and listen
But ignorance is bliss
And God seems to glisten

God created everything
But why did he let us sting?
He is omnibenevolent
I am barely relevant
And yet I feel the results of his mistakes
And his sins cry down my face

I want to believe in God
But who would create this place?
Does he expect applause?
Does he have the bitter taste
Of the smile that he must fake?
And can he wash his own sins?

‘Like Father, like son.’ I hear them say,
but what if I don’t want to be like him.
He’s a monster; he’s a vicious lion hunting his prey.

I resent the implication that you see my father in my reflection,
because the last thing I want from him is a strong connection.

I hear a voice in the distance.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
I just wish that apple could’ve travelled as far away as my eyes could see.

Why don’t I want to resemble my father?
You ask,
because all that I can remember is a tragic stain imprinted on my brain.

He reignites my trauma with his fiery presence.
For I am covered in the sins of his dark aura.

I know many people want to see a parent in themselves,
but I’d rather not see that man,
the man who deems to be my father,  in the mirror on the shelf.

It wouldn’t be that loud,
No drama nor frustration,
If it was up to them the world would be a vacuum.
Not a space with no sound,
Rather one with a raging scream,
luring you to switch it off.

But why would you?

Why invite the sound?
Why send the silence away?
Why why why…

It wouldn’t be “that” loud they said,
but how could they speak if silence had the gavel?
Hitting hard to gain order,
but no one hears that bang,
that wallop, that smack,
that train on the track.

A silent devil sat in his seat,
unwilling to admit defeat.
Would you listen, if silence were to speak?

hope is the thing with feathers
it’s the thing that carries joy
hope keeps families together
it holds happiness
but hope is the thing with knives
it’s the thing that can hurt more than having none at all
hope kills joy
and it breeds disappointment

disappointment has many colours
disappointment is pink
disappointment is blue or green
like all the things that you can’t see
disappointment is black
like the bad memories you can’t take back

regret wears many capes
regret wears horns and holds a pitchforked staff
regret wears a red suit and makes you hate
regret hurts your lungs and stops your laughs
like when something funny turns into something sad

Some nights the silence screams too loud,
Thoughts like thunder, hopes unbowed.
A weight that presses on the chest,
A mind that will not let her rest.

The mirror shows a tired face,
A soul that longs to leave this place.
Not for drama, not for show –
Just tired of the undertow.

She wonders if the pain will end,
If peace will come, if hearts can mend.
The world feels far, too cold to hold,
And everything feels grey and old.

But still – there’s breath. Theres one more dawn,
A bird still sings; the sky moves on.
A message pops, a voice replies,
A flicker of light in stormy skies.

Not all who break are meant to fall,
Some bend and rise above it all.
So hold on tight, just one more day –
Even the night can find its way.

I can’t count how many times I’ve heard
I told you so
Ladies and gentlemen save your words
It’s a waste I know.
But I don’t regret a single moment of him
He was what I needed
What I wanted
He was an experience and a lesson.
These points have been made so clear
I don’t need a reminder
and I’d hate for your limitless words to be wasted.

The road I took
I chose not to rush into my Ranga Pravesham
Not because I fear the stage,
But because I wanted it to be a moment,
I could hold with pride, not one and look back and regret,
I chose to wait until my dance pleased me
Until every movement felt like my truth, not just tradition,
Until every moment reflected the dancer I wanted to be,
not just the one others expect to see
I chose to wait until I had learnt all I had to
Until every step held meaning,
and every movement was understood, not memorised
I didn’t turn away from the spotlight.
I just chose to wait for it to earn it to let it fall
on the right version of me, the patient
and your discipline, one I love that grew far from applause
I chose to complete my Visharada exams
And have earned the right to teach, but my age stands between me and a salary
To science in the morning to steps in the evening.
I chose both timetables and Talas
because only in that Balance could I truly dance
Still, I chose this path to become the dancer.
I dreamt of not rushed, not reduced
And like the poet, I took the road less travelled,
and that has made all the difference