Category: Literature

Rebelling
Books, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Literature, poetry, Self-Help

Rebel

Tanya'sopinion

Trudging through the still corridors 
An eerie silence filled the hollow air
Empty classrooms, phantom voices
Spotted the broken corner seat,

My permanent abode once, it
Still bears the marks of my shrine
Disinterested drew rough images 
Wrote long verses on insignificant life

Cold stares of teachers who never care
One Ms. A always looked disparagingly 
A look of disdain, threw the poetry book
On my face, a roar of laughter around 

Now as I walk heavily through the grim
Cubicles, the quiet hallway, in retrospect
I Realize, the true cause of feelings,
Suppressed inside me for decades

The silent rebel in me took birth in these
Grey dull classrooms, devoid of any 
Human touch, an insurgent, exiled in 
My body, a non existent blob of flesh 

A faceless creature lost in the sea of 
Students called only by roll number five
Humiliated by such an indifferent education 
I vowed never to return back .

 

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

The Greater Tragedy Than Oedipus

Tanya'sopinion
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

 

feminine, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry, Self-Help, woman

Sometimes I Sip Sooty Coffee

Tanya'sopinion

On my way to home, there are moments when I casually sip

a dark sooty coffee, ashen black to remove the stubborn

charcoal stains from  my green heart, legacy of a sheltered

sub-urban life, I meander through the curvy narrow lanes,

stretching wide from top like sagging bosoms but contained

through metallic wired frilled brassieres and net fences. 

Streets can run crazy wild too, trees must be primed, petals

must be counted appearances have always mattered.

Holding the erect blank cup, for it has no colors of flags

no slender waited figures of  pouted mythical women

I measure my hours with careless sips of coffee

scratching my head as to which way to turn, as I am

bad in directions, I knock on several dilapidated

neatly kept homes, gosh they all look same, even the

garbage outside bear uncanny resemblances, I try to

wait outside several cobbled  streets with long

Victorian names King George Edward Philemon

second or third or may be fourth, scratching my head,

I wonder whether to turn left or right, go straight

or turn back, I see random common faces trudging along

taking  heavy steps who have similar frugal existences,

mundane chores, ordinary lives not literary enough

to pen in Queen’s English, as I wait for my turn on

King Henry Pokemon fourth or fifth bus stand

I deliberately miss my Peter-Pan as from the corner

of my eye through hazy blurred glasses, a spectacle

extraordinaire out of a rising chemical smoke of 

a burning cheap plastic, I catch a site so rare, a dainty

disheveled vision of a homeless man ogling at me through

his piercing eyes, winking at me, In a single moment we

have an understanding  of seven births and deaths we

both don’t make any effort to find our homes.

wind's tale
Humour, Literature, Nature, poetry, satire, wit,

Storm of Lifetime

Tanya'sopinion

An endless saga for the princely Florencio

has just begun with trumpets and  horns 

Fox and CNN like love-lorn destitute women

are in the arena  to maneuver each other

in the valiant sport of storm-catching, in

the deep blue oceans of the mighty Atlantis

The senile weather channel has not stopped

humming an aching melody for days now,

like a heart missing a beat the Florencio has

just dropped from a category five to two

An empire taken over by frenzy of hoarding

We have more waters stocked in our homes

than in the magic wand  of Florencio itself

The prying eyes of the whole world is set on

the storm of lifetime, the bet is that the regal

dark Florencio will beat exotic havocs of

Katrina’s and Laila’s of the past of-course poor

Andrew was never a match nor in name

or in game, Czar Tutin and one Ching Kong

dreaming if  storm  can do the task ordained

to them,  it’s already a success for those seating 

in the ovals and squares, as for me I just want 

the boyish Florencio to pass and watch for the 

devastating charms of debonair Valentino next

year while my husband yearns it to be sultry

Señorita…

-Tanya Shukla 

( just a poem to lighten up the serious mood in the country. I pray for everyone’s safety and health)

 

 

Desires
Inspiration, Literature, poetry, Self-Help

Byzantium( W.B Yeats)

Tanya'sopinion
The unpurged images of day recede;
The Emperor’s drunken soldiery are abed;
Night resonance recedes, night-walkers’ song
After great cathedral gong;
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains
All that man is,
All mere complexities,
The fury and the mire of human veins.
Before me floats an image, man or shade,
Shade more than man, more image than a shade;
For Hades’ bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path;
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon;
I hail the superhuman;
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.
Miracle, bird or golden handiwork,
More miracle than bird or handiwork,
Planted on the starlit golden bough,
Can like the cocks of Hades crow,
Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud
In glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.
At midnight on the Emperor’s pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
Astraddle on the dolphin’s mire and blood,
Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood,
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.
W. B. Yeats, “Byzantium” from The Poems of William Butler Yeats 

 

(William Butler Yeats[a] (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939) was an Irish poet and one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature. A pillar of both the Irish and British literary establishments, he helped to found the Abbey Theater, and in his later years served as a Senator of the Irish Free State for two terms. Yeats was a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival)