Beyond the flawless skin !

As I  gaze at the glaring glass of mirror,
The fascimile of a  maiden I see,
Wrapped in an immaculate skin she is,
From all blemishes and speckles it’s free.
Her visage conceives all reasons of vanity,
But reflects sheer drabness,
As if her mind is wreaking havoc,
With all the brewing happiness.
Her beautiful eyes look tormented,
Perturbed by the pandemonium in her mind,
She struggles to figure out what it is,
That always pulls her behind.
She pores and pores over the mirror,
And finally looks through the image,
Inside it’s all bruised,
She tries to recall the cause of such an apalling damage.
Not all bruises are gaping now,
Most of them are scars,
But each of it is formidable enough,
Her nonchalance it mars.
For she can reminisce that every day,
When she was mercilessly contused,
She fails to free herself from the claws of fear,
In the trepidation of being abused.
She restricts herself strictly,
To the carapace enveloping her,
She chooses to live with the symphony of the defeaning silence,
Than encountering the inevitable cacophony awaiting her.
For each jarring word had been sharp enough,
To mangle and make her bleed,
She endeavoured to brave them all,
But they crippled her indeed.
The scars appear to conjure up,
And swarm ’round her like bees,
They ram the ifs and buts into her mind,
And bemuse her with ease. ………………………………………….. She is overwrought now,
She brims with exasperation,
Her eyes are a claypan of oozing blood,
And her tears are arsenals  of resolution.
Deranged, she rubs her skin and rubs it hard,
To scrap the scars off them,
Alas! She ends up with read bloats on her skin,
For the scars are deep beyond them.
She becomes motionless  in a moment,
And gazes at the mirror with vulnerable eyes,
She feels overtrodden and conquered,
As if she is her own nemesis in disguise.
She will get one more scar soon,
Can she ever learn to overlook,
Engrossed in the exuberance that the further pages have in store,
Can she forget about the past pages of her book?

Dream or Nightmare ? (Today’s prompt – joke)

At the threshold of adulthood,

my heart saw a flush of pink,

perhaps love was about to commence,

in the ocean of passion I was ready to sink.

There stood a maiden ,

right infront of me,

my eyes rekindled at her sight,

my soul began frollicking in glee.

An immaculate stretch of sun tanned skin,

adorned her feminine flesh,

some curly locks hung loose on face,

she was beauty behind a mesh.

Her golden hair, long staright and smooth,

wagged merrily near her waist,

two eyes blue, disgorged composure,

as if nothing to make haste.

She gave of quite an enthralling scent,

it came in waves, tingled my nose,

within I could feel my fetish bulge,

but couldn’t gather words to disclose.

Stood she like a divine effigy,

as if carved by the master sculptor,

an epitome of resplendence she was,

possibly the master piece of the creator.

Plodded I like a passionate callow,

brimmed with zest towards the damsel,

near I reached, gathered her in my arms,

but my heart skipped foreseeing a hassle.

As I strenuously opened my hypnotic eyes,

I found in my arms but a lifeless fascimile,

” my sister’s barbie scented in her favourite cologne”,

staring at me with a sardonic smile.

The Tale of Tarrying Time

With the burden of a million curses,

she scuffs in an unflagging way,

fondling zillions as she passes,

the aroma of hope she does spray.

What if time complies with us?

What if she ceases to budge ?

What if she gives in to our pleadings?

What if she doesn’t move even if we nudge?

With time sufferings would linger,

tears ceaselessly would wet your face,

that ” time almost heals everything”

would not descend to embrace.

Your wounds wouldn’t metamorphose to scars,

contusions would continue to reek,

pain would mangle you in its grip,

recovery, from none you can seek.

Despair would clad you eternally,

you will find no light at the tunnel’s end,

darkness would compel you to succumb,

no ray of hope would glisten to amend.

The woes of ailing men wouldn’t stop,

they would dangle on their death beds,

time wouldn’t pass rewarding salvation,

making you realise how tarrying time dreads.

Sorrow would prevail for good,

worries would always conjure up,

a wait would end no more,

an ocean would never come of a drop.

Joy wouldn’t replace despondency,

neither well being, malaise,

spring wouldn’t follow winter,

neither clarity , haze.

The crux of life is transience,

perpetuity we can’t endure,

let time slither as she does,

for each agony she’ll leave a cure.

Freedom from binary

Tell me not to single out,
one out of white and black,
why get tinted with one of two?
do diversity we lack ?
Preach if needed, speak aloud,
what is good and what is bad,
make me see the stark frontier,
but don’t they say it’s good to be bad?
Why air only dark and fair?
does mulatto not have a seraphic grace?
neither too dark, nor too light,
a perfect concoction to shade a face.
Why applaud only the day and night?
why not an immaculate evening?
when a cloak cladded sun in the horizon lay,
letting you wallow in the hours intervening.
Who does decide the right and wrong?
and the verdict, who substantiates?
you might say six, but my nine isn’t wrong,
this discord over validity who abates?
Why just fit into two boxes?
and over binary choices cry?
why not try the disparate possibilities,
before we all die ?

Humbling Haughty Humans

Standing on the pedestals,
are statues of great men,
they claim to be greater,
even greatest as they ken.
The pedestals are flimsy,
in so big a city,
which again is a petty corner,
in a state so pretty.
The country houses so many states
of them that is one,
not much talked about,
they say, it’s just a clan.
Bigger is the continent,
that harbours these all,
take a globe in your hand,
can you point out where they fall ?
In the zillionth part of a whacking planet,
which is just a rubble in the cosmos,
stands the halfwit ,haughty human,
foreseeing glorious tomorrows .
Humble , humble haughty human,
what stokes your pride,
what makes you fuel carnages,
why do you take this stride ?
Your flesh has a stellar blessing,
for you have the gift of love,
but in your craze to earn not learn,
your boon like a bane you shove.
From your foster mother nature,
what all don’t you harness?
yet you choose to subdue her,
with your direful wantonness.
He does come with all his might,
as a saviour for His creation,
under His wrath you cuddle like a cat,
and He smothers the flames of your passion.
Bow you down to mother earth,
and wet her with tears of gratefulness,
with a forfeited soul and conceit aside,
you beseech Him with helplessness.
As a dust of grain is to you,
so are you to the cosmos you belong,
humble, humble haughty human,
or else you’ll perish before long.

Mothering poetry

Quite young was I,
tender was my soul,
untouched by world’s ferocity,
I was a damsel chasing my goal.
One fine day when God ordained,
words born out of me,
I began weaving each of them,
and couldn’t resist my glee.
Words were the cells you know,
tissue was each line,
organs were the stanzas and organism ?
It later became my spine.
That day I embraced motherhood,
for poetry was born out of me,
the chasm between me and my soul was bridged,
for my lock , I found the perfect key.
Twas time for me
to nurture my child,
to tame it right,
before going wild.
Sleepless nights then gave me bliss,
and days of struggle , appeasement,
I got enticed into its trap,
but that was never a confinement.
It had to get to grips with the world,
and seek obligatory validation,
though at places it did fail,
at others there was no question of negation.
Every time a laurel won,
my heart brimmed with pleasure,
my entire self coalesced with it,
and each acclaim I yearned to treasure.
I consigned myself to its betterment,
spending each second to polish it,
though it was an arduous journey,
I just couldn’t contemplate to quit.
Into a decent being as it grows,
gratification stealthily creeps into my heart,
but I cannot sit back and rest,
for there is much more to do for my art.

My way of catharsis

When dismay chokes me from within,
and makes me feel nauseated,
when it renders me oblivious to words,
and I feel deprived and defeated,
I stealthily creep,
into my secret sojourn of Elysium,
to find my ultimate respite,
though it’s not a fancy mausoleum.
In there, I tune in a symphony,
and give up my sanity,
my soul coalesces with every word,
I voluntarily lose my identity.
The prowess of the tune,
outdoes mine everytime,
I end up acquiescing in it,
for it is so sublime.
I swing with the melody,
dance it has been named,
it is done so inadvertently,
I feel it is divinely ordained.
I twirl and twirl like a tornado,
in circles as big as I can,
till my despair suffers a tangential cast,
its ingress for hours I ban.
I stretch my legs and point my toes,
making way for my gruesome woes,
I see them meandering out of it,
eroding hillocks of the darkest hues.
I get dragged into a different realm,
each word of the melody seeps through my skin,
they get manifested on my visage,
as I frivolously sauter and spin.
As perspiration runs down my forehead,
my soles become red and sore,
I free myself from the alluring grip of the tune,
and land with a sigh on the floor.
I take in a whole lot of liberty,
and respire utter bliss,
I feel as if placidity,
bends down over me to kiss.
That’s my way to catharsis,
in disguise it’s a boon,
embrace solitude for a moment,
and find yours one soon.

Pen friend

Under the starry sky,
and the moon bright,
as I sit on the lush meadows,
I get nudged to write.
Enveloped in tranquility,
embraced by solitude,
my pen writhes on the paper,
my heart brims with gratitude.
Amidst the turbulence of emotions,
I become hysterical,
I lose control over myself,
and sit down to write something cynical.
My heart nurtures each emotion,
gulps down my mind like a holy potion,
they maneuver onto the page through my nib,
if papers were lungs,my words were ribs.
With every twist, every turn,
every drag of my pen,
the boulder sitting on my chest,
sublimes as I ken.
On seeing a couple of pages,
caressing my sentiments,
and a couple of blank ones,
promising to be ears for my debilitating laments,
Indulgence cascades in with a flair,
as to vacuum rushes air.
Then pacification crams me,
and down I put my pen,
get ready for the day to come,
and be immersed in my bustling schedule again !

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