ring
feminine, life, Love

The Wedding Ring

The wedding ring

lay heavy on the

third finger, as my

finger ages, it sunkens

and digs deep. The

wedding ring never

ages, its tiny diamonds

still sparkles, it glows

like a pale moon…

A woe, a misery it

has tight grip around

my swollen finger like

metal shackles…

It’s glorious sheen

encircles my timid heart

As I finish my odd chores

I look at my wedding-ring

It never ages!

I threw it once down the

stairs, had a toast to

myself but a well-wisher

left it in my porch.

I lamented!

My finger has aged but

the wedding ring never

ages!!

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Madam Giselle
feminine, Literature, poetry, satire

Madam Giselle’s Tragedy

“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?

But a little pride is not bad for a woman of my type!

born again
life, Love, woman

No Land For Women

Yes my right boob is bigger than the left and

there is something going between my thighs

You see Mr. I breath from there…

But then don’t you breath from hole too?

 

I’ve been scared walking on the ancient silk

routes, always  covered in dark veil stalked by

the hawk eyes, conscious of my timid  moves.

 

But terrified to come home for I’ll pay the lofty

price of loitering after the dark…

 

In The Land for No Women I am known as a

harlot, well you see Mr. I am those women who

always wear matching sandals ,paint their lips

scarlet and plant kisses with ease while

matching steps with you.

 

But I am no bitter Mr. because I see no

difference between you and me…

you see we both breath from the holes

 

Ecstasy
Love, Nature, poetry, woman

Transformation

I’ve lived multiple lives,

surviving to live

as a man,

 

Million little moments

sabotaged to feel as

grandiose as

a man.

 

Countless nights sacrificing 

cotton fluff like yearnings to

please what became of 

that man. 

 

Marring those ardent desires

in whose rustic Earthen

wombs  human hope 

is conceived. 

 

Patiently waiting, ogling at you

to live as me a woman

only for a passing 

moment. 

 

 

 

 

Ecstasy
feminine, Love, Nature, poetry

A Woman

Hour my body was crafted, it was-not a skilled

goldsmith or the master strokes of  Vinci’s or

Raphael’s nor was ever any

Michael Angelo .

 

But a humble iron-smith who did the menial

job,  took his rusted hammer and a dagger

carrying stains of dried blood  to chisel  

me-over the  blazing flames.

 

For I as woman were to be tried and tested , my

smiles were to be  scrutinized from every angle

 like dumb Mona-Lisa gilded in golden

frames of Parisian museums

 

My walks were to be controlled like those ugly

dolls with small feet, and pangs of thirsts  

denied  with lack of cascading wines.

 

Silent  saline tears shed on altars of the suffering 

suffering were to be shrouded with blackest

mascaras, and locked away in the folds

of satin pillowcases! 

 

A sense of doom of a cruel persecution always

hovered, dreams were kept in check,secret

lovers were sailed away so far on those 

dilapidated boats..

 

Prim and proper, a society lady I glided  on the  

white marble halls of my castle of gloom , swiftly

learnt to smile with cockiness at trivialities

while serving teas with burnt hands ..

 

From the golden window I envied the lives of few

lucky concubines , goddesses  of their carnal 

brothels, they kept their freedom by bartering 

their rounded Alps and whiffs Of fertile

Amazonian gorges.

 

Envious I wandered why my freedom was sold for

few dinners and fake smiles,while  scars on their 

manhandled bodies seemed to glow my  mutilated

heart was to be a forever mystery, hiddden safely

behind a giant sapphire.

 

While those  unknown harlots  burnt out by making

out with thousand lovers  , I a godly woman simply

faded  polishing a giant sapphire,

day in and out…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

feminine, Love, Nature, poetry

Those Charms & Glows

I’ve possessed my bitter sorrows long back,

Adorned and wore it as part of my flesh ,

Pains which gushes as streams of scarlet blood

through blue veins, raging as river Nile 

Like whiffs of cheap psychedelic drugs, I 

consumed every bit and angle of my grief 

For a woman doesn’t become a woman until

she gleefully begins to possess and wear her  

pains, she transforms into a woman the moment

she glows while drowning in the lyres of pain 

Those sickly bossoms turn fuller and rounder

gracefully carrying the heavy burdens of heart

and the faces emanate those rare effervescent

charms about whom blind poets often write and

Trembling painters paint perfectly with  angular

strokes of  nylon brush. those charms and glows

as streams of scarlet bloods pumped from the  

aching hearts, gushing forth in blue veins.  

 

 

 

 

 

Wedding Carpet
feminine, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Love, Nature, poetry

THE WEDDING CARPET

In the dark corner of the house adorned a crimson hued Tabrizi rug,

gifted to me as the wedding present, imported from the mountains;

of Hindu-Kush, embellished with poppy flowers and lovers’ passionate hugs

Violet borders bejeweled with a fine needlework of embroidered springs.

 

Especially handcrafted from the hands of a virgin maid with lofty desires

Intricately woven with the woolly knits and exquisite twisted golden wires

So how it became a constant companion in my otherwise blissful nuptial voyage

taking the shape and creases of my body in its crimson folds, so clairvoyant

 

We both grew to confide and embrace each other on moonless nights

During the dark nights I would hear vague cries and faint sighs

And would awoke by the silent sobbing and consistent choking sounds

The tormenting shrills one makes when inflicted with a fresh wound

 

After long desperate searches in the eerie neighborhoods in vain

I decided to hunt down the sniveling offender on a night when it rain

As I searched and rifled, discovered it came from the joints of the rug

Deep with in the sews of silverfish anklets and bangles, felt as if on high drug

 

Veiled and shackled a gaunt silhouette appeared in the woolen cracks

Thickened clots of cherry blood from bruised hands left its tracks

The sobbing sounds grew louder and a known voice pierced through

“My virgin hands intricately weaved the wires of gold and silver to woe

 

 I dared to dance with my heart’s desire with men of different tribe

A misconduct for which I was to be buried-alive in sews and imbibe

Frozen embalmed in the embroidered joints I came back from death

When your warm saline tear cascaded in my mouth I finally took a breath”

 

We  became  lovers of sorts, embracing on moonless nights,

Fasted and prayed on our Tabrizi rug, shed tears, took gentle sighs

 It became a seminary a refuge when her or mine master was around!

 Until the inauspicious day of a long lunar month when we both were found

Castrated for our naked sins, she was burnt while I was forever hound!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lolita
feminine, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Humour, Literature, Love, poetry, satire, sensual

Another Loilta ( Revised)

Stretching apart her thin toothpick legs 
Sat robustly on his stunted arthritis legs
Suckling chocolate lolly-pop euphorically 
Careless licking melted cocoa from corners of lips 
Droplets of sweat accumulated on the forehead
A raw beauty in the care, guardian of
Venus two steps behind womanhood
Could feel the-hard bony rib cage against
His sagging rotten flesh, pulse palpating swift 
Impoverished  bosoms like two sand dunes, 
adorning  emaciated slender waist, yet 
not evolved into any shape, resting on a thin frame 
Could sense a ruffle beneath trousers
Serpents crawling underneath, slowly gradually
Raising  heads out of Ecdysis, sloughing old skin
Squishy, velvety pulsating reddish fleece 
Held his tremoring hands back, a young passion 
Taking birth in his heart, an urgent yearning to 
Explode with rapture at this rare rendezvous 
Odorless Scent of a young body filled his nostrils 
Like on opiate he fell into an ecstasy unparalleled
ready to  burst like a volcanic rapture, dormant for 
Seventy years, a malady damping elated spirits
Frightened maybe he has forgotten the tricks
Nervous fisted his hands with a fractured ego
Mustering courage extends forth sweaty palms
Trying to feel the touch of virgin demoiselle
Heart missing a beat gushed into million stars.
Little snake-lings crawled back to the hood.  

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. 

Gypsy
feminine, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Love, Nature, poetry

The Gypsy Girl

Meant to be in arms of million men

Faint smile with a walk of Sophia Loren

Moving and swaying as wind does 

Mischievous in her talk, careless in the talk

Ferocious and evil as a twisted Medusa 

She exudes aroma of a cheap French Perfume 

Mysteriously glances from the corner of her eyes

Loosens up the button of lacy blouse, to get some air

On her translucent skin, from which one can view

the crimson hot  blood flowing with full force .

Droplets of fancy sweat on her upper lip, like

exquisite pearls from the Persian Gulf

Soft ample bosoms like Alps can’t contain her

overflowing youth, their is a strain of blue

innocence in her green veins, yet 

she is cautious as she knows the ways of

some men, of the evil that dwells in the world.

Tanya Shukla