My Children Will Never Know

By Sinchana Srikanth Iyengar

my children

will never hear rage like thunder

in the voices of people they call parents.

they will never learn

to stop crying mid-tear

because footsteps

are growing louder.

they will never press their backs

against cold, locked doors

and whisper to walls

that they’re sorry for existing.

they will never

shrink when a glass breaks,

or flinch when someone breathes too fast.

they will never

bite their tongues until they bleed

just to avoid a war.

their wounds

will not be measured in purple.

they will never think

that silence is safer than honesty.

they will not mistake

“discipline” for disaster.

they will not call fear “home.”

they will not know what it feels like

to beg god

to either save them

or forget them.

my children will not cry

into their pillows so hard

they choke on their own sobs.

they will not stare at ceilings

wondering

what they did

to deserve this pain.

they will never say,

“i think they’d love me

if i were just a little more perfect.”

no.

my children will grow up like royals—

not in castles,

but in calm.

their crown will be peace,

their throne a bed of comfort.

their empire will be safety

i never got to know.

they will walk into the living room,

wide-eyed, open-hearted—

and i will pull them close

without them needing a reason.

no asking.

no bargaining.

just arms that say,

“i'm so glad you exist.”

they will cry.

And i will hold.

they will scream.

And i will listen.

they will fall.

And i will never say,

“what the hell is wrong with you?”

they will never sit

at the edge of their bed

at 3 a.m.,

wondering why they feel like ghosts

in a house that should be a shelter.

they will never feel

that their joy is too loud,

or their sadness is too much,

or their voice is better unheard.

they will never be told

to "toughen up"

as their heart breaks inside them

like glass shattering

behind closed ribs.

they will not carve apologies

into their skin.

they will not search

for home in strangers.

they will not hide

from love

inside the mirror.

i promise—

they will never ask themselves,

"am i too broken to be loved by my own blood?"

Because i will love them

loudly.

softly.

everywhere in between.

they will have the freedom

to feel.

to speak.

to breathe.

to be.

they will not write poems like this.

i will be the wall

that held back every storm

so that their skies

remain clear.

i will be the shield

between them and every dark thing

that tried to touch me.

i will be the parent

i never had.

Even if i bleed

every night to do it.

they will never

sit by the window

and whisper,

“where did it all go wrong?”

because with them,

everything will go right.

even if i never heal—

they will never need to.

because i broke

so they wouldn't.

By Sinchana Srikanth Iyengar