In response to a prompt at Campus Diaries
There are times when you realise ,this is the moment that defines me. This is what I have discovered and life will never be the same.
You remember the last time I wrote a sonnet for you,
It was all about my dwindling love and daffodils
Today I stand and brush across all the yellows and hatred
Of love and blood
And move on to tell you what changed me
You have to remember if something turns you ,burns you and kisses you
It stays with you
For when Mephistopheles visits me ,I wouldn’t need a knife and drops of white
I would need faith to prove him wrong
So what was my moment ,you might ask;
Maybe it was the first time I saw and touched him,
Well no , discover further
Maybe it was the first time you saw the violets hiding behind Lucy’s stone
It was the first time I saw His place ,his existence,
It shook me ,poisoned me,I was delirious
God! It was powerful
I can’t take it out,do not want it to fade.
The best thing that happened to me
And then this happened;
I do not move in the world of unconscious realms
But it was December,I remember
Icicles were hard and pierced my heart
That night I saw His messenger
I can’t remember his face,but it was him
Took out the broken pieces out of me
Just to tell me ,he was there when Satan was there to kill my soul
For I have been to a city where you believe in Him and nobody can kill your faith or soul
Or remove the blush your butterfly has
She cried that night for she wanted to be a traveller.
To run away;
They snatched everything possible, from what you can snatch from a child; childhood, innocence
She only saw blood and fierce sounds and accepted it as a gift from her Creator.
But this night she wanted to be the traveller.
Which one,she had no idea.
She saw visions, the angel helped her to decide
She saw the daffodil fields, her escape route from the hell she was trapped in
Ah!About hell. They asked her: Hell, what hell. You live in what people call paradise of flowing rivers.
But her heart knew what fire,what sword hid behind her paradise. You would see her trapped in the voices, lost in the crowd of vultures
As you call her she would laugh and talk, of all the colours of the world, of poems,of happiness, all this hidden behind her misery,
No one knew, she closed every door which came near to her secret,
For she was warned,do not say a word, this stays here inside you; whether it eats you or kills you but you are not to say a word,
She moved on to the next vision of the world beyond seas, world of poets and domes, of arches
A dream come true to watch them ride under the dream arch, the bridge, the orange, the blue, the lights and colours of life
This is what she wanted
Until the third vision cleared out of the clouds,he was standing there smiling at her
He left her,for an everlasting world,to meet his Lord
He travelled the final,the wonderful journey of love
She decided ,yes that is what she wanted ,to take the final journey ,to be ready to taken it and meet the Creator,to see the honey rivers and flowers of paradise ,to travel into the clouds of everlasting love ,what some call death . And she called it freedom from her miseries, a move to the path of silence and love.
And she was taken.
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;
Said he who wrote the Intellectual Beauty
They all wrote of love, of desire and being loved
But none of them wrote of Last summer’s flower,
Drawing inspiration from the greats and the moonbeams
I decided to write about “the flower”
So you see my dear, this is probably the first time I am talking
to a fellow being about this
For half my life only the sylphs and the gnomes of Pope had
knowledge of, the Flower
I will begin my verse for you have to promise no word is spoken till
He, our Creator will call upon us on the Day of Resurrection
You might think why am I talking to you in this fashion
For I hold in my heart his name. Dear listen to what I have to say;
There was this summer when I was young, I met him near the door of Dante’s Circle
Had I known it would offer me life long suffering I would have never glanced
But you can not change the course of the wave can you;
Happened with blue green stains all over the white canvas
For he was the summer and me a flower,ready to be plucked
I heard him murmur of seas he came from, how far and the beautiful was the
place he came from
He was curled on the bed,his curls on my pillow
When I realised I was not the flower anymore,summer was gone
I was an icicle,
All things fade and die,even flowers
That instant I was turned into a hart, now I know I am a flower Actaeon
But why cry and grieve for he who wrote the Intellectual Beauty said
If winter comes,can spring be far behind
And my summer.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “From the Collection of the Artist.”
I am writing and telling you about a period around hundred years ago, I think 2015 it was. America was the super power, Britain confused, India ,its population growing. What you are reading is something all your history books will speak about . But, nobody will tell you how the people were. Half of them were starving,others hungry for power. If it was a period similar to that of Noah’s ,waiting for an ark to appear ;God would have destroyed mankind by now.
People had their culture ,their ideas ,but were judged by others .There were several communities and religions which were targeted and people were accused. Hate was in the air. Countries which you do not see on the map today,were bombed and vanished .
Social life did and did not exist. It existed when you had weddings and you partied,but did not when you were alone . The family structure was non-existent .It was like people had turned into different colored immiscible liquids.
The cities were expanding,people were obsessed with technology and in a committed relationship to their phone. The existence of humanity no longer was based on some ideology,even Marx and Althusser would not be able to explain what was happening. The life people lived was toxic,people had secluded lives,ate anything “organic”(not),had meaning less relationships(read meaningless sex),had no purpose in life except to gain monetary benefits .
The idea of religion was slowly taking a backseat, as people felt empowered by NOT going to the Church,not wearing a hijab and treating people who do that as the “other”.
The worst part about them was they turned all the classics, the work of the Romantics to some television series.
So, people be happy that you do not belong to them, people of 2015.
Study them,f eel sorry for them and move on to a better museum.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “High Noon.”
As I was trapped in my pink fairy net I was thinking of my presentation for the next day. Here I was dealing with Post-feminism. It was confusing, the term was pointing at the world after feminism. So, are we at a stage where we do not need feminism anymore. Obviously no, I had to dig in and move inside the layers of post-feminism to comprehend that it came as a backlash to second wave feminism and actually was a good thing. We still are living and breathing in the post-feminist world. Alright, it is hard to explain, but we are crowded with banners saying we are done with feminism,we are done with getting her the”equality” status and just need to project her in a good way and empower her. And mind you, it’s not equality in the social way, but just the “sexual way”.
If you have seen Carrie or read about her in “Sex and the City”, she and her friends portray Manhattan as an island where women stand as equals to men and are empowered feminists, but just jog around with need for post-feminism pasted on their bodies. So what exactly is post-feminism?
Carrie Bradshaw,if you look at the series talks of her friends who make it to the New York City, are all famous, established, living their American Dream but just need good sex. The series is a perfect example to prove how post-feminism works, in media it works like talking about “accepting your body shape” by some soap which is sticky and has a bird !
Dear women of the world, you are told to be feminists and fight for your sexuality. Your right to wear what you want, have sex when you want. This is not feminism, these are all Satan’s friends from Moloch to Beelzebub. As if we have reached that stage when women are respected and not seen as the “other” sex, we are fighting for our sexuality.
Maybe I will write about this some other time when I am not stuck between Songs Of Innocence and Bradshaw!