Flower Wreath
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Literature, Love, poetry, Self-Help

Pride of A Flower Wreath

Weaved with a lot of skill and compassion

Oblivious stood erected in disdain 

Persian turquoise, Indian indigo…

You name it, and I had flowers of different valleys

Bathed in egotism, adorning-robe of pride

Relishing my pristine appearance, while

Scorning others, self gloating was my sin

Sure of my fate, to be embellished at 

reception decor Of heavenly virgin bride, 

I Spoke meticulously the tongue of vanity,

My artisan a blind simpleton 

Crafted me with great virtuosity 

A connoisseur of colors, arranged

Silk flowers with tears filled with pity 

But I basking in the glory of self adulation 

Elated, high browned  looked down on him.

On other customary bunches, turn after turn

Dates after dates,  final day arrived wrapped in laced

White Upholstery, escorted in a black Lemo

to a town of a black widows, shrieking wailing 

unwelcomed my arrival, roughly handled and bruised 

was placed on a coffin of one senile old man, whose

only act of courage was a piece of land where he 

was to buried.

 

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man
life, poetry, Self-Help

The Man

Conceived in the womb

of rustic Earth, in cradles

of cemented cobbled streets.

Sculpted body arched cuts

carved out pangs of hunger, 

an old man who was never there,

hollow eyes searching in rubble

and dust to foresee a clueless future,

bulging muscles fed on charades

of abuses, molded of violated

sexuality on menacing highways

Risen out of grim wreckage of a

wasted youth and cheap drugs.

Raw and visceral, he was to

be The Man…

Inspiration, poetry, Self-Help

An Ordinary Beauty

Today once again in
A celebration of a beauty
So ordinary, blew me a candle 
Ordered a velvet cake 
Smeared some face paint
Painted lips red 
Put on those choo heels 
And performed ablutions to Medusa
The goddess of our kinds 
Hollowed eyes, sunken cheeks 
Frizzy hair, flabby flesh 
Sagging bosom, plunging neck 
Echoing an average tale 
Of a working woman’s face 
Not your usual Grecian model 
Nor Venus, nor Aphrodite,  
No circassian wasp-waisted
Beauty embellished in Indian jewels 
Very own pin-up doll in
The living room just back from
Nine to five shift, sultrous
Hot and sweaty as hell, 
Crownless queen of a 
Bankrupt sultanate, a familiar 
Unsung belle in the kitchen of your harem 
Tinkling copper pot and pans, 
Ruffling golden knives and forks 
Castrated in a golden cage 
Woman of a ruined withered ottoman sultan 
Nonetheless a seductress in her own right. 

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

No Desire Is Mightier

I know not…

Was it a dream or a drowsy opiate slumber?

As I stood on a tortured sea-shore

and cast my eye on the swollen waves

passionately  kissing my naked feet

making love to me with a brutish force

taking me in its azure vinyl embrace

slowly grasping my flaming flesh with

a fiery I’ve never known before,

an uproar a stir in my fragile body

exhausted since centuries of decay

the foamy saline waters entering in me

through all nook and corners, fissures and holes

mixing in all the violent blues with the

crimson reds, crawling stealthily like million

serpents, wriggling gushing upwards

Oh! a sensation a loud roar within

a rapture somewhere, an euphoric elation

an electric jolt worth thousands bolts!

My enslaved body in an act of consummation

so strong, my heart-ached, soul-shuddered

at the violation so brutal, like a hapless bird

caught in a nib of a savage Falcon from the

far-east, I let it happen without any contest

Why? Because I possessed it too and let loose

the cinders of  ancient fire burning in me

for I didn’t surrender, and let it go on without

a single doubt or shame nor did I curse

the gods above, knowing that no desire is

mightier than the other, for yearnings

have the same frenzy everywhere.

But I know not…

Was it a dream or a drowsy opiate slumber?

 

 

 

 

 

cacophony
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry, Self-Help, Spirtual

Cacophony Of Sounds

Silence fills you
like nothing else
a need, an addiction
a compulsion
Let the seconds,
minutes, hours 
be infused with-quietness 
draw the blinds of heart
rejoice in tranquility
of poise contractions
stillness of fleeting moments
freeze the much
pervasive solitude 
pause the endless cacophony 
of incoherent sounds,
of million thoughts. 
Let our hearts
become the shrines
of calmness and serenity
those who fear silence 
will not go so far.

prophet
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, poetry, Self-Help, Spirtual

The Prophet

Met a wise man once,
Not a chiseled, silver beard monk,

But a weathered limping man.
A prophet he started to narrate a tale,

Not a saga of god and ablutions
Nor sordid scripture of poverty around

Standing majestic on the banks of holy river
He whispered softly in my ears

listen to the melody of the flowing water
Touch the humility of the trees

Feel the burden of the Mother Earth
Enjoy the seven colors of rainbow above

Tell me about God, if you a saint?
Mischievous he started to laugh,

So he spoke the words of wisdom,
A hypnotizing  look and calm demeanor,

God painted on the canvas of nature
A beautiful portrait of you my child

The first word of God is Adam,
The last word of Adam is God

God can not exist without man,
For creation is the master of creator my lord.

Stupefied I stood on the holy bank,
As prophet knelt and kissed my hands.
 

 

 

 

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

But I Am Happy

In all my innocence, I thought you will listen gently to

the beats of my heart, I cried and howled as I was

alone and scared I knew we both spoke different

languages but still put my trust because I yearned to

speak and liberate myself from the fear and the million

different voices in my head but you mocked and tried

putting few words of your choice in my mouth and shut

it forever while I suffocated and cried but silently because

you didn’t like the sounds of sobbing I made and now

you claim I am mad because,I only talk to winds and trees

and never seek your company, For the allegations of

lunacy, I’ve been accused so many times and stripped

of any shame and dignity, but I am happy , yes you

heard it right as  happy as one can be and that’s my

only vengeance. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Open Kitchen
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Literature, Nature, poetry, Self-Help

An Open Kitchen

The majestic oak trees just shed some woods

the lush baby spinach leaves oozing out of hoods.

In the large pristine green pastures equally growing,

the youthful wild umbrella mushrooms wooing 

and with the raw Ramona tomatoes in my sight 

I am sure that my stew is going to be really bright. 

While preparing stew in a pot it started to slowly rain,

but my mom told me no hard-work ever goes in vain.

The ever benevolent Mother-Earth as my open kitchen

and while stew simmered,the humble deer also pitched in.

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

Old Oak Tree

From my heart extends  the dark

dry branches, trying to ooze their thin

heads out, longing to embrace the

old oak tree standing alone.

Patiently waiting for the winds of

autumn to strip him naked, before

he goes for a long hibernation in the

silvery snow flakes. The branches of

my heart eager to  coil around his

withered ancient moldy bark

The many grim moonless

nights, when I would lay in his hollow

lap as he stretched his wrinkled branches

to run across my tangled hair to adorn

it with saplings of leaves and embrace

me tight in its gigantic roots, showering

me with his many benevolences, purifying

my soul of sins of generations with

a delicate touch of chastity on my bosoms

For I love him with all my heart, I just love him!

And  he always loves me back.

Numerous silent tears that I shed as it held,

me high on its shaky branches,

Branches like a silver beard of an old

prophet, his yellowish green leaves

 whirl like a Sufi-Darvesh on the

Melody of golden flute of hollow winds.

A final good-bye to him before he

 is exiled to the remote lands of winter.

A final  cry till we meet again

he with his younger leaves and I with an

older heart but one day I know I’ll

merge in his roots forever, till then

I’ll pray in the shrine of my tears and

wait for his safe return. 

Tanya Shukla