The most misunderstood, misfelt, and underrated feeling.
Water flowing from eyes can never be fake.
It could be from happiness,
Can be with grief,
Can be out of jealous,
And can be through overwhelm.

The reason may be anything,
But they can never be fake.
They hold valuable expressions
Which words in dictionary too fail.

They carry the pain,
Unexpressed emotions,
And more.

Tears are misunderstood
For being weak, sensitive, and over-emotional.
But they are not in true sense.
One can never judge the value of tears.

They make heavy hearts lighter.
Hidden suffers heal.
They make expressions visible.
Make the situation intact.

Never look low of tears,
And the one who lets them flow freely,
Than to submerged them fearing judgements.

Discrimination—
It didn’t begin with Varna, nor with apartheid's chains,
But within the four walls, where love should reign.
Not in the laws, or ancient scrolls,
But in whispered tones, in measured roles.

At home, it begins—subtle, sharp, and sly,
When praise is uneven, and questions fly:
"Why aren’t you fair like her?" "Why don’t you grow tall?"
As if worth is measured by looks, that’s all.

It hides behind laughter, yet cuts like a sword,
When money decides if you're cherished or ignored.
When beauty’s a ticket, and silence is gold,
And kindness is punished, while pride is bold.

We talk of religion, region, caste and creed,
Of outer divides that the papers read.
Yes, they are real, and rightly fought,
But what of the wars at home, left to rot?

What of the brother who’s called "lesser than"?
The sister mocked for not fitting their plan?
What of the friend who never speaks out,
Because love was withheld, replaced with doubt?

The world fights battles the eye can see,
But the heart bleeds in secrecy.
For no law can change a mother’s choice,
Or the unkind edge in a father’s voice.

And those who suffer, suffer alone,
With pain too quiet to be known.
No marches held, no banners flown—
Just broken spirits, fully grown.

So before we chase the global wrongs,
Let’s listen to our own home's songs.
For the worst kind of hate is the one unspoken,
And the deepest wounds are the ones left open.

"Home is where love should begin, not comparison"

I was made to be on top by God,
But I became a tool that only nods.
I see myself — I know I’m better,
But I can’t control it… and that’s what’s bitter.

I want to live as my true self,
But became someone who hides from himself.
I knew I needed a pause, a break,
But they yelled, “Stop? For God's sake?”

So I paused… and quietly broke.
Now I can’t hit back — I’m sinking slow.
In a lake of silence, deep and wide,
I watch the real me — float outside.

I was alive — when I look back.
I can preserve it, but I can’t get it back.
I want to shine, but I’m not a pearl.
I want to cry, but I’m not a girl.

This society says: “Be happy, be composed,”
But never lets us feel free and exposed.
I wore a mask I wasn’t allowed to take off.
I’m a boy in a world that calls me free —
But I’ve forgotten what free even means to me.

"When the lion falls, the wolf howls loud.
When the wolf fades, the dog stands proud.
So what is strength, if time dethrones?
Even kings crumble into bones.
Chase not the peak, for it shifts like sand,
Honor lies in where you stand."

I got ways to go, believe me,
The coldest ever—anaemic.
Stripping down the vices,
And by that, I mean me, myself, and I, *****.
The lord, call me your highness,
But don’t confuse me for the kindest.
Taking a stand isn’t the vilest—
Approach just like the golden touch, the Midas.

Reprimanding the bezoar,
Leavin’ all the poison behind us.
Close your eyes if you don’t want 'em to find us!
The God? I’m not Osiris.
I lack the means to guide us.
The path of the finest—
A fantasy, only to remind us
Of all the fallacies I sold to the crownless.
But what of the fellow deceased?
I mean the fellow seized!
The dreams of the unguarded,
The sin that we started,
To get us rewarded.
I killed the Open-Hearted,
Now dearly departed.

You reap what you sow—
Left me deep in the snow.
I peeked through the hole,
But there’s only me, the sole.
I staged a show,
To feel a little more,
But I never opened the door.

Now I see you no more.
You were sweet, a little slow—
Deserved love so much more.
But I lacked the gall,
And you took the fall.
I was built to protect you,
But you never left that little door.
Smiled a little more,
Should’ve hugged you some more.
Now echoes of silence haunt the floor.
You’re gone, and I see you no more.

I am to blame for this nuisance,
I am to blame for this rapture—
If only I didn’t fail to capture.

If I tripped, you too tripped—
Brother, we were trippin’.
I took a hit, felt sick, should’ve listened.
Where’s my foresight? My vision?
Where’s my f**kin’ intuition?
To hell with my indecision—
Blinded by pride, deaf to collisions.
Never cared so much for religion.
But you were the dawn of this coalition.

Fruitful conviction,
So much to offer, a pondering decision.

Rage consumed me; I created diversion.
Hateful I got for not understanding your assertion.
You had the gusto, a remarkable vision—
But I doubted and embarked on evasion.
Cursed at my frustration,
But no one was there to listen.
I carried the mission,
Prying open wounds to find division.

But I didn’t see my mistake.
Argued and raged, thinking I’d escape.
I broke, woke—but still bore the same face.
Tried to retaliate,
But it was too late to recalibrate.
I over-narrate, couldn’t hesitate.
Thought anger was relief, never did validate.
So much arrogance I failed to navigate.

Kinda felt like Medusa—
A head (ahead) of snakes, my own accuser.
                                                                        -Asher Graves