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.




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, 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.

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We Are Together

The saplings of sorrow

Ooze their heads in every garden

Not yours and mine only

The heavy fruit of grief falls

In your and mine lap alike

Tears like courses of great rivers

Flow in the same direction of ocean

The spells of darkness are darker

In  corner of every house

Sun shines equally bright

Whether it is you or me.

Fear of woman in window
Inspiration, Literature, Nature, poetry, Self-Help

Dreams of Fear

Dreams of Fear

Haunted by a terrifying image
Of an old lady crackled withered
Ogling at me through holes in the window
For every Sunday night as I fell into
Sweet slumber, a shadow, an image so dark
Looked straight to me, menacingly
Insidiously it too stood by the window
An odor of rotten flesh, decomposing laughter
Filled the hollow air wandering
Terror plagued body when thought
Of shutting eyes, in a tongue alien
She babbled incoherent verses
Startling codes would appear in the empty air
Days, weeks passed unable to break the spell
Fear of an impending doom, fright struck my heart
Refusing to bow down, mustered the strength
For a close encounter one dark night
Slept early for a rendezvous so common
As closed my eyes, a bright topaz light
Visible before me, sight so grotesque
Awestruck but pretend least affected
I dared to outshine in her own game
We both stared piercingly into other’s eyes
Without flickering for a second, her babbles
Met with my jabbers, today I will face you down
And sneered at her maneuvers, till first rays of dawn
Blinded my eye to witness the image vanished
The last encounter parted ways
The prophecy of doom was over
Spell of horror was broken,
A valuable lesson learned in life
When met with fear, look straight!

Inspiration, Nature, poetry, Self-Help, Spirtual


I will not bow down, 

To the strong northern winds

The unwavering faith that rests in 

My warm soul is enough

To combat mighty cold winds

I will not step back from my position

As the inch of land that I occupy is

The only one I will ever possess

The howls don’t terrorize me

For fighting is my sole luxury 

And defeat is never an option 



_ tanya Shukla