|| My Heart, in Rebellion, Kneels||

 

On days when silence screams the loudest,

And the sky folds into a greyer shade of blue,

They whisper, "hold on, just a little more"—

But I have no fight left in me, dear Krishna,

Not a single spark to drag through the storm.

There is no hate.

No love.

Only the vast, cruel ocean of numbness.

It creeps into my bones,

Steals my sleep with frozen fingers,

And sits beside me in the stillness—

Mocking peace I cannot reach.

I have offered all I am,

To love, to longing, to illusions that wear smiles—

Commitments that wilt,

Situationships that blur,

Traditions that brand me "unfit" for daring to breathe outside their box.

Why must I shrink to belong?

Why does my heart—wide, aching, open—

Feel like rebellion?

Is my rationality lost,

For believing all souls are worthy of gentle love?

That kindness, not conformity, should be our creed?

I only ever wanted to protect, to nurture,

To be understood—just once—without masks.

Tell me, Krishna,

Why is it so hard

To be held without pretense?

To be heard beneath the noise?

My soul is tired of explaining itself

To a world deafened by its own rules.

A roof above.

A purpose to hold.

A man who loves without measure.

Are these grand dreams,

Or mere echoes of a heart still hoping?

If these are sins,

If wanting tenderness is too much,

Then let me fade from the hunger of expectations.

Let me give up, not in weakness,

But in sacred surrender.

I lay down the burden of being enough—

Enough for a society that always asks for more,

And never offers stillness in return.

I surrender to you, Krishna.

Unbind me from this striving.

If I must be held, let it be in your silence.

If I must be understood, let it be by your gaze.

Be my saviour—

For I am no longer strong,

But I am yours.

#Moonchild