Once Full, Once Empty

There were no words,
no verses, no songs.
Just a barren space
in that lonely heart,
wounded by despair-
foreign yet of-blood.

No poems were written,
no stories were told.
Songs were left unsung,
All words. Yet, unread.
Only a dark black cloud
shrouded the small sweet soul.

Then lightening struck,
a beating thunder heard,
words showered down,
from the dark black cloud
on the small sad soul,
engulfing every cell,
every wound, every thought.

Despair forgotten
words were written,
songs were sung,
stories undone.

As the cloud cleared,
the sun shone
on the once barren land.
Words were everywhere,
blooming, flourishing
in the garden of HOPE.

Fault of the Eye and the Tongue

He was a stout little man,
scurrying about the office,
sniffing out faults,
throwing silly jibes everywhere.

One day his little eye caught
her ameliorating beauty.
It was not right, he knew.
He knew too that she knew.
But tempting fate, he said,
“Every day bringeth more
beauty to thy face!”
Shamed, she left,
never feeling safe.

He was a fat little chap,
pretending to own himself,
and the place to dwell.
He was silly, they all knew,
but stupid, he was not.

Yet one day, he caught sight
of glittering gold in her possession.
Could he resist the touch?
No? So, it was said,
“What this be?”
Admiring her things from afar
was forgiven,
but to touch without permission
was forbidden.

He was tall, dark, and handsome too.
Women swooned and blushed
in his presence, all wooed.
He had eyes for one
pretty thing, unapproachable.
So he stared and admired
her face, her body, her all.

Far away he was, but she felt
naked in his eyes.
Ashamed, she drew her walls
far up high.
Insecurities plummeting
from thousand feet on top;
her head pounding under
the pressure of the fall.

 

You Ask About My World At Your Own Risk

The world is a strange place:
Its men sick, its women desperate.
We came to this world to play a part
but who knew our act was so clichéd?
What is easy for them is difficult for us.
Why? Because, God made us
of the female flesh!

When nature’s balance is toppled over:
a woman taking a man’s position,
egos are hurt and tears are shed,
for both men and by all women.
Secrets are kept for better or for the worst,
in this strange grey building,
which has become our world.

A/N: In my country, sadly, engineering remains a male dominated field. So, in the famous grey building of the chemical engineering department of my university, the colourful presence of female students was a rare sight. It should have made no difference, however, unfortunately, it did. What conspired as a result is history and prediction combined! This was our world where things were said, done and insinuated where they should never have been!

A Woman’s World

She is but a commodity,
forever was, forever will be.
Inherently flawed, born as a she,
her gender: her chains,
her gender: her fame.

It is a double world,
a duel tragedy.
She is but a thing,
pretty makes perfect,
smart has no gains.

Ambition: a disaster,
the ultimate destruction.
Life spent near a crib,
pampering and cooing,
perfect illusion of happiness.

Conformity, unacceptable,
the ultimate depression
Life spent on the edge,
soaring while defying,
perfect illusion of victory.

No winning for a woman
in this world:
a man’s world,
not a woman’s world,
never a woman’s world,
no matter how many
are born into it.

Disclaimer: The song belongs to the awesome Irish band, The Script! It is titled, ‘We cry’ and is perhaps one of my all time favorites! 😀 Enjoy! 😀