Let Her Be.
https://youtu.be/7neLoFb9HgQ
Saturday, February 2, 2019
Poetry That Reflects Her Inner Fire And Drowns You In Her Magnetic Charm!
Poetry is one of the most potent forms of expressions where emotions flow in an undisrupted flow, through tides and lows wafting through the breeze of mixed feelings. It is said that poetry had the tremendous power to heal wounded souls and uplift battered minds. As quoted by William Wordsworth, "Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings; It takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity."
When we talk about emotions and better still, when pondering about powerful emotions, the best persona to reflect it would be women. She carries a storm in her heart and is yet so gentle and poised! She might not reveal her inner strength always. Some may mistake her as a weakling. But, when the situation demands, she completely transforms and becomes the raging lioness none can ever compete with. As Eleanor Roosevelt rightly said once, “A woman is like a tea bag- you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.”
I was introduced to the amazing and magical world of poetry where words spell magic by one of my close friends, Eivine Renny, who works in a reputed Web Designing company based in Tirunelveli and Chennai. She introduced me to some of the crowning pieces of literary works about women. Let me share two of these literary marvels with you all:
“Still I Rise”- By Maya Angelou
Maya Angelou, one of my favorite poets of all times, was a well-acclaimed American poet, memoirist, civil rights activist and singer. She was a prolific writer who never minced her words when it comes to penning down her thoughts. Here is one among the many enthralling works she did, “Still I Rise!”. Here she explores the power of a woman to rise above adversities like a phoenix that rises over the ashes. She questions sarcastically whether the world wants to see her broken, and answers with pride that she will never be broken; she will rise just like the moon and the sun and shine up above with hope written all over her!
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
The Laughter Of Women- By Lisel Mueller
This short yet sweet poem by Lisel Mueller stresses the underlying power of the laughter of women. The poem establishes a link between a woman's laughter and freedom. Lisel Mueller describes that a woman's smile or laughter can usher in peace, happiness, and truth. Since the laughter sprouts from joy, it is infectious and spread all across, making others too happy. She goes on to reflect that the joy of the world unfolds from the smile on each women’s face!
The laughter of women sets fire
to the Halls of Injustice
and the false evidence burns
to a beautiful white lightness
It rattles the Chambers of Congress
and forces the windows wide open
so the fatuous speeches can fly out
The laughter of women wipes the mist
from the spectacles of the old;
it infects them with a happy flu
and they laugh as if they were young again
Prisoners held in underground cells
imagine that they see daylight
when they remember the laughter of women
It runs across water that divides,
and reconciles two unfriendly shores
like flares that signal the news to each other
What a language it is, the laughter of women,
high-flying and subversive.
Long before law and scripture
we heard the laughter; we understood freedom.
These two literary masterpieces rightly reflect a woman’s inner raging fire and drown you hopelessly in her magnetic charm you just can’t resist or ignore!
Saturday, September 1, 2018
Saturday, June 9, 2018
Friday, June 1, 2018
Love her
Climb up the ladder of love,
seek the supreme for a chance at heart.
Worship him with mind of fragility
and stay there as long as
the day shines and then fades.
Ardent to hold but don't mould,
let her be your sight,
solely your North star.
Thursday, May 31, 2018
Bleed
To the man who wants a woman to bleed red on their first night.You should know this,
When she was 3, her tiny fingers were rubbing her uncle's junk, apparently that was a secret game.
When she was 5, the dhoodh wala wasn't smiling at her genuinely, he was capturing a memory for his night's relief.
When she was 10, the bus driver loved her not for her cheerful face, but to fill his morning with a touch and poke.
When she was 15, her boyfriend wasn't her lover. He was a thief, stole her first kiss.
When she was 20, her cousin, yes the one you talked right before capturing that perfect picture, was her nightmare in disguise.
At 23, when she enters your room, will you be yet another of these men, or will you make love?
Oh, she won't bleed, but if she does, it's her eyes that'll bleed.
Monday, May 14, 2018
Home
My heart is in bits and pieces, it's all over the place. There is a piece of it in my dad's comforting voice, a little bit of it with my concerned mom. Some of it are stolen and so I am sort of lost that way. And I know most of it is in my lord's possession for I find something as close to home when we are talking. A bit of it is in my husband's arms, but it isn't steady yet in his warmth, I can't blame him. Words I read and jot have captivated a huge chunk of it.
So home for me is not exactly where my heart is, it's where I feel absolutely me, and I haven't felt the absoluteness entirely yet, I might find it or not,as I am still on the road, connecting and growing towards what I'd define home.
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