Tuesday, September 10, 2002

The First poems. For Women.


There was a rose
Which did bloom
As the sun rose.
Only in dark gloom
Did the rose wilt
As the trees shook with a slight lilt.

Nearby, a voice sung a lullaby
To her son with a malady
A voice…so pure
A voice…hoping for a cure
The chiming of the church bell
Seemed with every ring to make him well

Again the rose bloomed
The sun also rose
A dark shadow, the fire he did douse
The doused fire of hope
For as usual he was on dope.

As she felt him grope around
Her life to tie a rope around
She stood still as he beat her
Again and again…
And in his eyes was a horrid gleam
For he was humanity
And she was woman.

She stood brave
Even though she did crave
The liking of humanity
But, nay for the Viking anger he hath
And the gentle dove that she was.

She stood brave
With a visage so grave
Because for her son
A mask she had to don
To fight for freedom
In this vast free kingdom

Then did the rose wilt?
Yes to the lilting hymns
It rose up to the lord
To tell him of a story
A story of a woman…

Of one woman
Against never-yielding humanity…

The mother represents all women, while the man represents the older generation or rather the people who ill treat women… while the child, her son represents the younger generation of this world... The one that will change the dismal situation of the world at present. Things are slowly changing. There have been many changes since this poem has been written in the year 2002 to now… here is one more poem…

This poem is about the women and the society who accuse her of crimes she had no part in but was rather a victim of…it was inspired by some event which was in the news though at this moment I don’t remember which one, the events like the one that inspired this poem still continue.


There she ran
Away and away
From the ken of her clan
By the trees in full sway

Away from the ramble
Of society in a scramble
They caused here trouble
And made her grumble.

So away, she ran away
Even then did
She never her fears allay
For the greater fear of being outcast
From this world based on creed and caste
Her once pure beauty
Would now surely get pity.

And again she dashed through the bramble,
Without ever a grumble
The thunder was a distant rumble
And down the hill she went a tumble

To escape was her motive
Because she was held captive
By her own dear people
Her so called dear people.

For accused she was of cheating,
For which she awaited a beating
Her mortal enemy they were
Confused, she sat down to rest
Which was very rare
Sitting under a lonely peepul
Drowning in her great sorrow
And hoping for a better tomorrow.

A future never to come
Or a future quite near?
Her fate is in your hands…

1 comment:

  1. you know there is loads of stuff in this that can be developed into a complete theater production full of lyric, drama, dialog and crazy ass plots.

    My favorite
    For accused she was of cheating,
    For which she awaited a beating

    (age 13?)


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