The Masculine Feminism

Like the river flows with her own grace,

We see some rocks in between with no trace.

While addressing the beauty of the river,

We often forget the thrown rocks born with despair.

Wrecked and broken in a corner.

Like a luminescent moon, a mile away.

Hiding his history of hideous grief in the

form of an ancient crater.

We see faces, just faces, not their hearts

Our father, brother, husbands and friends.

They all seen very hard; isn't

But have we ever peeked down in their hearts longing for love?

He may not be a vulture feeding over flesh but is surely a beautiful dove.

Behind that masculine smile, there are weeping eyes hidden within the veil of betrayal

His tears come from the broken pieces of heart turning pale.

After those days of hardship and work,

When he meets the night and looks behind.

He sees the darkness locking up the light.

Mesmerized with some old memories,

he turns up to be a small child,

lying in his mother's lap unaware that sweet berries often turn wild.

But the rays of reality blurs his vision and tell him

He is a man who cannot cry

His heart is of a demon; rude and dry.

Entangled in the world that mock,

He tries to cope up and remain a strong rock.

Weathering with the time as it pass,

He build up his emotions like a glass.

Which is shiny and transparent but shatters so fast.

He bears all his pain in the blisters existing since his long past.

He is a glitter of a mother's eyes,

A superhero of a daughter's dream.

He is the rock that captures all the dirt,

But lets the river flow across its edge.

Feminism may be the river that flow, but

Feminism is also the rock that retains and grows,

So, let us show the seeds of compassion and love

And trap those misconceptions in a lock

So that one day, a flower may grow on that weathered rock.