feminine, Love, poetry, sensual, woman

Neat Satin Silhouettes

Neat satin silhouettes
narrates a mundane tale
of tireless nights filled
with loops and knits

Days make sense
doing dirty chores
frantic zig-zag
of mood swings

Mischievous curves
embraces salty sweat
carnal desires rebuked
suffered a psychosis

Psychedelic talks
in realms of fantasy
burden of one ruby
ceases any chance

Refuged in verses
of random erotica
eerie silence
possesses sheets

Gaunt couch
joint residuals

Stale stench 
hovers ceilings 
echoes denial!!

 

 

 

 

absence
feminine, Love, Nature, poetry, woman

Your Absence

My heart aches as

It bleeds drops of

crimson desires while

longing ,a decayed sepia

picture is preserved

in the cris-cross

chambers echoing

a comfort of your

lack, a cold warmth

in your stillness,

neat bed-sheets 

narrate a tale of

extinguished fire,of

broken vows , no

” I love you’‘ or

ever “miss you’

may be it is a

curse that you

only exist in your

absence.

 

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?

 

 

 

 

 

Baklava
feminine, food, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, woman

The Golden Baklava

The molten honey oozing out from the layers and layers

of criss-cross diamond pastries, packed with luscious emerald

Persian pistachios, and the fragrant cinnamon from the land

of mythical fire dragons, the rich raisins handpicked by sultan’s

virgin hoories from the ripe grapes on the caravan routes of the

mighty silk-road, Oh! what a decadent mixture of zahidi dates

specially bartered in return of a passionate kiss to an ancient

Bedouin  flanked by the flock of camels travelling across the mighty

Saharan sand-dunes, a heavenly sweetened delight capable of

seducing even the astute gods in the majestic skies, I just

surrendered myself in the feet of the great-Turkish pesermick as

he so softly made me sit on his cozy lap and put a morsel of the

golden beauty  from his lusty mouth into my parched mouth.

I fell into a hands of sinful ecstasy worth thousand opiates and my

promiscuous mouth just exploded with decadent flavors and for

my heart it just got ruptured as I licked the juices from the

golden baklava gently crawling on my warm flesh.

 

( Baklava is my favorite sweet, I just love it)

 

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. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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. 

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

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

Sometimes I Sip Sooty Coffee

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.

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