Train
Inspiration, Legend, Nature, poetry

A Lone Train

Chuk Chuk Chuk Chuk…

A lone train screeches

as it travels through

the hollower valleys

and gasping Wastelands

 

Chuk Chuk Chuk Chuk…

Piercing through the

bare empty winds

bursting into open clouds

thundering straight into

the darker nights on

narrowest bridges

 

Chuk Chuk Chuk Chuk…

carrying in it the ghost

passengers, yes those lost

trekkers pacing across

the numb eerie silences

keeping  wrecked promises

 

Chuk Chuk Chuk Chuk…

stopping at  the haunted

junctions of few spirited

bandits, headless inherited

curse of slained and martyred

those slaughtered and mattered

to some cause.

 

Chuk Chuk Chuk Chuk.

The train trails along

Cracked tracks beyond

Dense woods, those wronged

Pilgrims but still moves on

on lonely lanes treasuring in it

vowed wrecked promises

of now vanished travelers 

Chuk Chuk Chuk Chuk…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a lone rover
Legend, Love, Nature, poetry

A LONE ROVER


A lone rover wandering in,
In the ancient city of Byzantium
Flying through the narrow lanes
Of colorful bazaars embellished.

With tapestries of doe-eyed hoories

Sweet aroma of brewing Turkish coffee
Lingering in the air, koo hoo of pigeons
In the throbbing kare pazar.

Tall turquoise minarets echoing with
A melodious song of bulbul seated on
Withered old chestnut tree, a song of
Some far off exotic  land separated

Over two waters, by the grand range of
The Hindu Kush, the ballad of crystal blue waters
In the lap of mighty snow-covered Himalayas,
A lake flowed down through white clouds

Descended from heavens on whose divine,
Waters exquisite golden swans float,
On the smooth frosty edges Buddhist
Monks meditate for days and nights

Abode of the great lord the mighty
God of wrath and destruction. As the lone
Rover listened to the hymn astonishingly,
Little bulbul, flew across the mighty sea

Rover being a wanderer decided at once
To follow the bird and travel into the distant
Lands, for his quench to travel, is insatiable
And time in the world limited.

Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Legend, Literature, Love, Nature

Refuge

I took refuge in myself as a

hermit in an ancient cage,

enduring the thunders and 

the howls of angry wolves

in my brain, as the centers

would not hold, no one ever

cared for my broken words

so I started to scribble long

verses on my aching heart

while taking refuge in my

my withered soul caged by

the barrage of human folly. 

feminine, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Legend, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry, sensual, Spirtual, woman

Final Liberation

The exquisite hope diamond ring that was

tightly wrapped around my shaking finger,

is it enough to keep me chained or do you

think I stayed for a few golden jewels?

You can very well tie me with the,shackles

of your heart’s desire and lock my yearnings

in an embellished magical lamp and seal it

with an Indian pearl. But are the ruby and

topaz strings strong enough to tie my soul to

some wooden vows? Has any sorcerer ever

been able to trap a soul? My soul has been

emancipated long before you were born it 

flew across many deserts, crossed many

channels and soared much above the azure

skies. And for my wild heart, you can scribble

many criss-cross lines with a marker of your

desire.Could any illusionist ever conjure up 

the strength to tame a heart? The profanities

that you hurl at me are no longer the cause

of my woes. I no longer feel humiliated

when you mock at me with a grin on your

handsome face or call me a whore or an

unstable lot. Much before you since centuries

men have called me different names and

temples and shrines haves offered me

several offers of redemption and even tried

to chastise me in the holy waters of sacred

rivers. But while pundits and priests were

performing fire rituals for the purification of

my sinful flesh my soul was busy consummating

with the hollow winds and erect trees on the

moonless nights. My spirit paid ablutions

and offered few locks of raven hair as a

sacrifice to the  Goddess of Earth, Gaia and

my soul just soared higher and higher

after being blessed with the final liberation. 

Tragedy of Oedipus
Books, History, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Legend, Literature, Love

The Greater Tragedy Than Oedipus

Tragic Oedipus  wandered blind
In the bazaars of colorful Athens
Crimson blood oozing out
From  hollowed eyes
Cursing gods
For his fate so harsh 
Carrying shame of
Copulation with mother
Strong guilt  sits heavy 
For slaying, his own father
Roaming from street to street
Asking same question,
“Why was I the chosen one”
Begotten out of the cursed
Womb of Jocasta 
Doomed by abhorrent 
act of Laius
In  self pity and gloating
had he forgotten of the
little boy sodomized 
Shame horror
subsequent death
Chrysippus Condemned 
For acts of evil that men commit 
For which naive boys
And girls pay heavy price 
In his misfortune did he
think of young  Chrisypuss
Dishonored, violated
Did he not ponder upon
wickedness that men carry
Atrocities for which many
Young ones are robbed
Of single drop of dignity.
Tanya Shukla

(In Greek mythology, Chrysippus  was a divine hero of Elis in the Peloponnesus, the bastard son of Pelops king of Pisa in the Peloponnesus and the nymph Axioche or Danais. He was kidnapped by the Theban Laius, his tutor, who was escorting him to the Nemean Games, where the boy planned to compete. Instead, Laius ran away with him to Thebes and raped him, a crime for which he, his city, and his family were later punished by the gods. But over the years while studying Greek Mythology, people often remember tragedy of Oedipus but left out Chryisppus which according to me is a bigger tragedy. Many young boys get raped or sodomized but their stories never come to surface, this is just my attempt to bring Chrysippus story through poetry. who was sodomized and raped in the Greek mythology of Oedipus)

Source:

Chrisypuss, Wikipedia

 

ring
feminine, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Legend, Love, poetry, Self-Help, woman

A Brute For A Man

What evil dwells in men who lock up

their women in golden cages and deny them

the freedom which nature bestows upon them

the freewill which the lord rests on them 

What kind of love justifies binding up feet

of their women so they can never walk freely,

strangulate their feelings so they never have any

dreams of liberation? They  suffer silently with men

of such devilish brutality, for whom their wives

are just trophies and machines to bear children

which they threaten to take away because the

law is on their side and the house is on their land.

These wives are made to bow more and everyday

and any last vestige of  shredded-esteem that is left

in the gaunt  hollow body and parched heart is

trampled and crushed upon. Even the wisest and

fairest of damsels fall into the charms of these

kinds of brutes who walk ten feet in front of women,

for they are men and carry the burden of their mothers

while their women have already paid for six feet deep.

Their women smile and carefully mask their purplish

dark circles with concealers and expensive mascaras,

however the blueish veins still remain visible beneath

the six layers of dark makeup, The diamond ring

of unholy matrimony used as a bait to catch the

rare fish, digs deep in fragile fingers obstructing the flow

of any life present inside, the wedding gown lay hanging

of a bride who ordered a pretty shroud for herself. 

Still these wives carry neat appearances and smile even 

when chained with hot iron shackles of pride and disdain.

Thoughts of mercy- killing  lingers and echos all the time

but still they carry on for the sake of the newborn babies,

they  bear every-year with a single wish if they are born

as girls never to mistake brutes for men as their mothers did.

For she  can have an unfortunate fate like mine or yours….

Tanya Shukla

Kubla Khan, the emperor
Legend, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry

Kubla Khan

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure-dome decree: 
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
Through caverns measureless to man 
Down to a sunless sea. 
So twice five miles of fertile ground 
With walls and towers were girdled round; 
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, 
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; 
And here were forests ancient as the hills, 
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted 
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! 
A savage place! as holy and enchanted 
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
By woman wailing for her demon-lover! 
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, 
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, 
A mighty fountain momently was forced: 
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst 
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, 
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail: 
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 
It flung up momently the sacred river. 
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion 
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, 
Then reached the caverns measureless to man, 
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; 
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
Ancestral voices prophesying war! 
The shadow of the dome of pleasure 
Floated midway on the waves; 
Where was heard the mingled measure 
From the fountain and the caves. 
It was a miracle of rare device, 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! 
A damsel with a dulcimer 
In a vision once I saw: 
It was an Abyssinian maid 
And on her dulcimer she played, 
Singing of Mount Abora. 
Could I revive within me 
Her symphony and song, 
To such a deep delight ’twould win me, 
That with music loud and long, 
I would build that dome in air, 
That sunny dome! those caves of ice! 
And all who heard should see them there, 
And all should cry, Beware! Beware! 
His flashing eyes, his floating hair! 
Weave a circle round him thrice, 
And close your eyes with holy dread 
For he on honey-dew hath fed, 
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge
 
(Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a leader of the British Romantic movement, was born on October 21, 1772, in Devonshire, England.)
Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge is my all time favorite poem. Published in 1816 it remains Coleridge’s one of the most admired poems. The poem is masterpiece as far as the language and imagery goes. Coleridge wrote it after having an opiate induced dream about the great Mongol ruler Kubla Khan and his famous palace in Xanadu. To me this poem remains a literary magic, for I’ve never enjoyed a poem as this. Whenever I read it I am transported back in the history to the magnificent and mythical palace of Kubla Khan. I hope you all enjoy this as much I)
History, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Legend, Love, Nature

A Seeker

One little canary on a branch of

An ancient peepul  tree singing

A melody  of a distant land across

The sandy deserts, a song of an exile 

Of a traveler banished from his land, 

For his crime, he was a seeker and 

Carried in his heart the thrill of knowledge 

Persecuted for his adventures, he never 

Stepped a foot in his forefathers land,

Where he went no one ever knew, 

Time and again a migratory bird sings 

A song of a lone figure returning home.