To grandmothers, whose love is vast,
A steady light, forever cast.
In kitchens warm, with spices sweet,
They cook with hands that know defeat.
Ammachi with her payasam,
Fruit salad bright as morning’s calm,
Onion curry, mango bliss—
Her meals, a comforting embrace, a kiss.
Ammama’s gulab jamun so rich,
Pulissery’s warmth, the perfect pitch.
Cabbage, cutlets, plantains fried,
Each bite a journey, a love undenied.
They mastered the art of nourishing hearts,
With every dish, their soul imparts.
In every meal, a story told,
Of years gone by, of love so bold.
Ammama, devoted, through every storm,
A life of care, her heart was warm.
An arranged love, yet pure and true,
She showed us what devotion could do.
And Ammachi, with her graceful hands,
Still practices yoga, as life demands.
Her strength, both quiet and profound,
A gentle force that’s always around.
Yet here I stand, so far apart,
From the homemakers with such art.
My life’s a different kind of dance,
A different path, a second chance.
But still I feel, within my soul,
The love that makes their lives whole.
In every meal, in every move,
Grandmothers teach us how to love and prove.
So here's to you, those steady hands,
You made the world, and made the plans.
Your love’s a legacy, deep and true,
Grandmothers, this one’s for you.

If life were truly sweet and true,
We wouldn’t need to be told what to do.
No need for pressure, no need for force,
If joy was real, we’d find our course.
They say, “Stay in school, it’s for your own good,”
But does it fill you up, like you thought it would?
They tell you to work, to climb that high hill,
But if it felt right, you'd climb at will.
They push for marriage, a perfect fate,
But if love were easy, you wouldn't need a date.
If happiness lived where they claim it’s found,
You’d chase it freely, not be bound.
What they say they want is joy, you see,
But if it were true, they’d set you free.
For if you found bliss on your own,
They’d leave you to roam, and not make you groan.
They tell you what’s good, what’s best for your soul,
But the truth is simple — you are the goal.
What feels good is living your own desire,
Not dancing to a song that’s someone else’s choir.
So when they claim they want you to enjoy,
It’s just a mask, a slight decoy.
Because if they really wished you joy,
They’d let you live — no rules to deploy.

There’s nothing wrong with loving me,
With seeing worth in what I see.
A narcissist, they say, is bad—
But why should I feel guilty, sad?
I focus on the mirror’s face,
In my own love, I find my place.
I don’t need others to define
The value of this heart of mine.
For who can I trust when trust is thin,
When hearts are fragile, full of sin?
I am the one I’ll lean upon,
A solid base when all is gone.
No strings attached, no debts to pay,
I make my path, I lead the way.
I love myself, not out of pride,
But because in me, I can confide.
If others find it strange or wrong,
It’s me who sings my own love song.
No need to wait, to beg, to plead,
I am the answer, I am the need.
For in this world, so wild and wide,
Where trust is broken, truth denied,
It’s better to be my own best friend,
And love myself, from start to end.

I don’t mind that I’m childlike,
With wonder in my gaze,
While grown-ups chase the ticking clock,
Lost in their endless maze.
They talk of rules and weighty things,
Of life that must be tough,
But I wonder when the world forgot
That joy can be enough.
Why call it childish to be free?
To dance in rain, to laugh with glee,
When every “grown-up” part of me
Would rather be wild, bold, and free.
You speak of “adulting” like a crown,
A burden worn with pride,
But I’d trade all the grown-up frowns
For the child I feel inside.
They say we must grow up and conform,
That freedom’s something to outgrow,
But I know deep within my heart,
It’s the child who makes us whole.
So yes, I’ll be childish, and I’ll play,
With love and light to guide my way,
For in this world of rules and grind,
It’s the child that keeps me kind.

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every action in life:
A time to be single and a time to be in a relationship,
A time to hit the piano keys and a time to hit the computer keys,
But somehow, I did it all backwards.

They say, "Stop. Stop what you love,
Stop the flow, the pulse, the shove
Of passion in your fingertips—
A world you build with every grip."
Each word a weight that presses deep,
A silent scream, a heart that weeps.
Why must I bend? Why must I break?
When all I crave is just a break?
They know the truth—
Yet still they speak
The words that twist,
The words that peak
In bitter taste,
In heavy air,
A life they steal,
A soul laid bare.
I am not evil, not the foe—
Just one who seeks a place to grow.
But all around, they tear it down,
And I wear silence like a crown.
Even love feels cold and strange,
When those you trust just rearrange
Your world, your thoughts, your very soul,
And call it evil when you feel whole.
Am I not allowed to breathe, to dream,
To chase the fire, to let it gleam?
Or must I fall and fade away,
To ease the weight of others' sway?
I am suffocating, fighting fast,
But I have no choice—
This pain won’t pass.

I’ve learned to wear a smile for all,
A gentle mask, a softened call.
But once, I vented, raw and free,
And found the world not kind to me.
Some saw my pain, some knew the truth,
Those who’d walked through darker youth,
They nodded, knowing deep inside—
The scars we carry, the tears we hide.
Others, though, just couldn't see,
They told me I was wrong to be,
To say that love felt more like chains,
That hurt was real and coursed through veins.
“Your parents love you,” they would say,
But love can hurt, and hurt can stay.
One said, “At least they don’t drag you ‘round,
By your ears, like some,” without a sound.
They called me drama, queen of woe,
A victim playing out the show.
But flattered, I would smile at this,
At least I was a queen, amidst the mist.
Some thought my pain was far too loud,
Others found my silence, too proud.
A balance lost between the lines—
I’m too much, or I’m too fine.
A psychopath, they’d name me then,
For lacking tears, for hiding pain.
Yet if I cried at the wrong time,
It’d be too much, a crime, a climb.
I’d never trust someone not moved,
By Holmes' cool gaze, the mind improved.
For logic calls, but hearts can hide,
And that’s the place where I reside.
But here’s the truth I’ll share with you,
Though people fight for what is due,
They’ll claim to care, yet chase the crowd,
Their thoughts are loud but not too proud.
For if you stray, or if you break,
You’re wrong, no matter what’s at stake.
You’re bad if you don't fit the mold—
For caring more than stories told.
A world so busy with its rules,
Forgetting all that made them fools—
You can't be you, and if you are,
You’re “wrong” no matter how far.
So now I smile, and try to blend,
Though deep inside, it’s hard to mend.
For being real is harder still,
Than what society can ****.