Crying Men by Rosemary Cinda

Born into a world of stigma that welcomed us with invisible shackles,

Melting in mind, never allowed to escape from the pigeonhole;

The moans, they die up on the inside as macho us are not expected to be softie.

Mocked, neglected and tagged as canine spirits,

We labour the muscle of patriarchy for eternity.

Eyes, they well up,

Teardrops glide down as they gasp for breaths

Veils, they are torn apart.

As stagnant silence rolls in,

The mirage of the soul remains.

Festered, discharged, smothered into the abyss of oblivion.

And at the crack of dawn,

The patterns and rhythms of pretension crawls back in,

Like a lost tourist, a broken dream, a living facade;

'till a little care & deep gaze breaks the bubble.

Concept & Cinematography : Rosemary

Content : Mahesh Krishnan (Bohomonk)

Music : Lami

Dimensions: 1782x1012

Software: Adobe Premiere Pro