Category: satire

Madam Giselle
feminine, Literature, poetry, satire

Madam Giselle’s Pride

Tanya'sopinion

“Makeupum Divina lipstickum 

Hail Oh, scentum , perfumee lios

Goddess Stilettum que sara sara”

Madam Giselle woke up to one glorious afternoon,

and damn those long-long lashes stretching little

over than the river Nile. Sparkling stilettos towering 

way above the heights of the leaning Towers of Pisa!

…

Having Insight 24 inches waist Madam stretched her back,

skillfully squeezed her belly to adorn golden Victorian 

corset, but it wasn’t to be easy for Gods have conspired and

were hell bent to bring down the penniless heiress from the

25 floor Ivory Castle.

…

As madam painted her face white with crushed powders of

corals from the far-off Gulfs in the fashions of Japanese Geisha

Fluttered fake lashes, ostentatious snobbish smiles extending

little more than her chiseled jaws, heavily armored with

 French powder and perfumes.

…

All the effort to slay any man who dare to passed by, hurriedly made

her way through the narrow allies of apartment suit in a

perpendicular fashion to avoid crushing her precious creases.

Oh so much pride, such high vanity, but she is indeed a beauty!

…

Tragedy fell upon! A loud thunder as heavens roared

heels cracked the sparkling Stilettos fell apart before her careful

gaze giving way to the bare ankles. It was to be the

first omen,

…

Acrimonious beings floating  fluttering in air laughing,

giggling; a loud thunder & descended million unwelcome

tiny crystal droplets, soaking the kohl smudged eyes

cascading into pools of black waters….

…

“Why it had to happen to me” ,cried Madam Giselle

Was my crime to be in vain or was it just a naive disdain?

For tell me folks is
little pride bad for a woman of my type? 

Madam Giselle
feminine, Love, poetry, satire, wit,, woman

Ms. Matilda’s Woes

Tanya'sopinion

Ms. Matilda woke past the noon,

swooning to the Beethoven’s sad tune.

A mysterious ailment swipes,

over the modern women of her types.

These curious cases of daddys’ princesses,

of colossal estates and multiple mates.

Are inflicted with malady of swinging moods,

making them shudder at matchless boots.

Ms. Matilda sitting still in her bedclothes,

howled remembering how at,

the party last night, enemy women clapped

secretly when her golden heels zapped,

and as her crimson lipstick chapped;

she knew her teddy heart is in for a snap.

black wooden fence on snow field at a distance of black bare trees
Nature, poetry, satire

Dear Connecticut

Tanya'sopinion

“Connecticum Dunkum,

Walmartum Eta Sigma”

Oh! Sweet Connecticut, tell me what,

implore others to inquire where I dwell?

To which I proudly declare, well

it’s the greater hemisphere that rests,

between New York and the Massachusetts.

Touted as the deep south of New England, ‘

often in desperate times, it is the Walmart which

is our Hyde park, where spectacles are

staged and a tongue is lashed at every Isle.

A brow is twictched, a lash fluttering;

in a pursuit of that fairest toilet paper.

In the frigid colds locals turn inwards,

snugging their priveldge and old charms.

And when odious winter hours become unbearable,

journeys are embarked on the pilgrimage;

to the nearest station, to maintain a visage.

Lord is the witness, for the stock exchange

farmers toil hard, to extract wine out of the;

unripe blueberries and gaze with snobbery,

and the exalted pride.

Every big man, you once encountered has moved,

while earthly nymphs in their fair bosoms;

are secretly hatching a conspiracy to fly out.

For humble folks, rising tempers and taxation

has turned friends into foes. But don’t

get me wrong, when the springs abound;

everything once again turns into mirth and merry.

Highest praise is due to our well-bred dame,

lady Martha Stewart whose mansion is not that

far away, and now you know why;

everyone’s future look so down and trodden.

But behold, don’t fret or fume, both beer

and bear has been on a steady incline.

A matchless diversity we often look with disdain

at those, who are neither old nor affluent and

frown upon those whose appearances

don’t match with our very own.

Despite the hardships abead, both

natives and the migrants bask in it’s glory alike,

while secretly dreaming about the

sun-shine city of Florida.

For all you lovely folks out there,

I intend no harm here,

so repair your charms,

and after reading simply move on!

Humour, life, Nature, poetry, satire, wit,

Mr. Fly

Tanya'sopinion

Mr. Fly I know you have a story too,

but forgive I’ve some things to pursue.

For once raven nights are no time my

friend to buzz and tell me why?

So Mr. Fly flutter , flap and fly away

go suck the nectar of a flower,

request you to never hover;

mistaking whiff of attar, for a floret.

I can’t tolerate and ignore it anymore.

Reminds of the Nash who spoke the

truth ,“ God in his wisdom made the

fly and then forgot to tell us why.”

Persian Laila
Humour, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry, satire, wit,

The Persian Laila

Tanya'sopinion

Having feasted past-midnight, Persian Laila got up lazily at the stroke of twelve. Wearing her sparkling tiara, she rose with a numbing headache resultant of a hangover,

Caused by the left-over French champagne that she drank greedily from the China glass of her Benevolent master.

Her master’s darling she occupied a special place in his cozy lap and abhorred the site of her pot-bellied mistress,

For Laila considered her as a staunch-competitor and purred when ever she dared come near especially at long intervals of midnight drinks .

She would adorn herself on the left thigh of master and lick heavenly nectar only from the corner his pinkish wrinkled hands.

A site to behold midst bubblingchampagne and the smoke of expensive Cuban cigars. Her blue eyes drunk with envy and rage, she fought hard and with everyone for her master’s attention.

On rare occasions of evening strolls, she would walk with snobbish air and displeased countenance on the cobbled streets of rustic New York.

Looking down with disdain on all other pussies in the town, as she deemed them to be too causal and boring in the appearance,

For Laila came from the Persian peninsula from the house of the grand pasha of Azerbaijan, her great-grandmother the dark-eyed Hoorie was a favorite of the sultan-Suleiman.

And what a cherished presence on all matters important of every concern but was slain on one moonless night by the jealous ladies of Sultan’s Harem.

All were fine, till troubles started to brew, for master was a man of excess and one Persian damsel was not enough and yearned for another beauty to occupy the vacant right thigh!

So brought a petite French this time, Annabella who had a legacy of her own, for she came-from the family of Master pastry chef, Monsuier Jean Paul employed in the house of King Louis XII.

Both pussycats couldn’t look each other in the eye for both was endowed with looks and style to charm any.

One fine day while the master was away, in a brawl with each other both got their tails entangled, the mistress had enough and decided to sail one of them away…

And who better than the Persian Laila, for she was never in her good books. Hence a plan was hatched and poor Laila was swiftly hurried off to live with an old woman in quite a corner

Of the town and master was told a tale of how she eloped with neighbor’s Valentino who had-no history to boast of. 

Annabella now the reigning queen while Laila spent her time remembering the days of glory gone by.

steak
life, Nature, poetry, satire, Self-Help, wit,

The Last Supper

Tanya'sopinion

Fat cellulite everywhere,

not an inch have I lost from

anywhere.

Keto-Sheeto Vegan-Keegan

Omni-Carni, Raw-Thaw

tried and tried!!

Tasted every waters of

hot springs from the

blue coasts of Sardinia to

the sulphuric lakes of India.

Left & skipped the ever-flowing

ruby wines from the promised

golden grail.

Slayed butchered every lean-

turkey and the farm fed chicken

that came in that way,

cruelly snatched with my

bare hands the last golden egg

that popped from the Mother Hen

just to lay my hands on

that holy protein.

While the scornful Angus

blocked and locked horns

in the ivory door.

Dejected I tried my luck just

one more time and fasted

till the sultry noon which turned into

The Last Supper of the day!