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sustainability

Let’s talk about oppression and subjugation

Let’s talk about suffering and grief

The curtailment of her basic human rights

Think of a woman who not only sustains abuse

But accepts, supports and stands up for it

An embodiment of the most powerful person —

her oppressor, her persecutor, the maltreater

Tainted with the same dark motives,

Ominous and foreboding, gloom and doom

Thrusting them back to their burrows

How far will she go to bring those down?

Who are struggling,

Who refused to give in,

who refused to be lessened and minimized

?

Will she cramp their style?

Her only qualification?


She could be worse

Let us talk about her persecution

Her emancipation

Her degradation


blooms

The cupidity of cracking bones
for the Psalm of celestial blooms

Hemlock,
crushed underneath the lids of a mountain,
branching out sinews
of souvenirs

Cadavers of Canaries
birthing night-sodden bones
dripping with moreish liquor

A sine qua non for rhythmic forays
of blooms
Leaping lightly
Engulfing the cerulean chasm


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away from the farm

Think of the lass leaving for the harvest

Maybe she will be hauled off to their farmhouse,

Or maybe they will get her innards out of her body, there and then

When they ask her about her dreams

Or they talk about women who love catcalling,

Their disembowelment heaves to the sight

Their eyes overflow with the dreams of her vagina

They were searching for it around

A lust for psychological manipulation of masturbation

Washes over their dreams of things that match their level

She’d ask her father — how could you survive such swamps?

But he was just a troll.

Just one of them.

The testimony lay underneath the layers of eternities.

What horrible taste in people!

And the farm was drenched in the blood of labours.

I don’t know if she dreamt of places unlike that village but I did.

There’s a planet at the edge of the universe not unlike the earth in landscape and atmosphere.

But its inhabitants are not.


The post goes to ‘Sunday writing prompt‘ hosted by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.

you gotta believe it

Don’t let it

Oh no!

Oh no!

Oh no! no! no!

It ain’t put your nose outta joints

The fingers they point

Is the quintessence of their defence

Out of difference

Ha!

So put a fence

Finally it’s all gonna make some sense

O’ yeah,

When you’re cut down to size

It’s the blessing in disguise

Don’t look for another prize

How else would you ever rise?

O’ yeah

So don’t be surprised

How else would you rise?

Tell me

Baby, you ain’t find no way to rise

O’ yeah yeah yeah

So don’t make you a fool

Never lose your cool

The cocoon is a boon

You will get to know it sooooon!

You gonna get to know it soon

The labour is worth a fortune

O’ yeah,

Baby, you ain’t gonna be no fool

Keep believing,

You gotta believe it

You gotta achieve it

You gotta believe it….


P.S: The post is written in response to dVerse prompt ‘MTB – Let your words ring out’ . The poem is light and fun and I do wish to do more experiment with it. Thank you very much.

when they crashed into each other

And that’s how Darby and John crashed into each other or so the story goes…

” Woe betide anyone who comes closer!”

She drew her sword from the sheath and stuck it to his neck.

“Better set your face against any temptation.” Her ruthless gaze flared up.

He quickly seized hold of her hand and managed to heave it off his neck while slipping his right hand at the back of her head.

“You might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb.” He curled his fingers through her hair and without delay pressed his lips against her.

After a while when he was trying to catch his breath, he was promptly served right for his felony on his left cheek.

SMACK!!

” Touché! You taste bitter!” He gave a yelp of pain clutching his swollen, cherry red cheek with his hand.

“You’re bland. Not to my taste”

” I must agree that good taste has been driven out of the town, nowadays. By the way, most people, especially, young and beautiful ladies assume that I’m the sexiest thing, the greatest kisser alive…after you.”

“It’s the harvest time for your wild oats.”

The Sun went down but they were still chatting the hind leg off a donkey.

” The day I lost my specs, I stumbled upon a nova. Yaaay big! Ablaze with millions of….”

Tell me more about them. What do Darby and John do? Where are they now?

Now? In their dreams they sleep with the moon.

That’s not true!


The post is written in response to dVerse prompt ‘Prosery Monday: Moonbeams and Moon Dreams.’ The line ‘In their dreams they sleep with the moon.’–is taken from Mary Oliver, “Death at Wind River”.


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don’t choose! ( in the aftermath of the demand of dowry )

I heeded them whipping their own souls

If they still had

How can you sanctify it or concoct clever excuses?

How can you sanctify excuses that come with such cruelness?

How convenient it was to be blind to the sufferings and pain you always knew were there?

How could you sanctify the vicissitudes of gradual eradication of someone’s identity?

How could you idealize the quiet acceptance of abuse?

He says:

Know your place, know who you are?

It’s not where you belong from.

It’s not your home.

Don’t you dare be a man!

Be thankful for the abuse, savagery and humiliation and the burden of expectations that come from him

his family, relatives and collateral relatives.

They don’t need to be decent, for he is not.

And it’s not your burden to have, it’s their decision.

Whether they decide how far they can go with the harassment and harrying or stand up to it. And you know…

Give up the idea that marriages take place for two lives to bloom together in their full glory.

Or it has something to do with relationship.

It’s a means to an end to replenish his needs for sex, money and obtain status even without working for it.

His need to be praised for the virtues and aptitudes he was never able to manifest.

It’s about the choices and fulfilment of one person and rejection of another.

It’s not safety or protection but harassment and the support of criminality.

There is an excuse for everything — every violation, every violence, deception and conspiracy.

Keep him warm and wet in the bed, reproduce his children and slave over them

Serve them with the minimum requisite you have been provided, for the child is solely your responsibility. His burden. Family?

Slave away only to be shown your place as a slave without anything in return for it.

No honour but disgrace kind of people. Quietly accept the abuse.

Never expect him to be grateful for sacrificing not just your life but your soul, years, your priceless peace.

Bask in the loss of honour, potential, confidence, vigour to meet his selfish needs.

Slave away your life, accept abuse and suffer silently.

After all, what is a woman but the shadow of a man???

Don’t voice your unmet needs, your traumas, don’t seek help. Suffer silently.

And still fulfill his demands,

Don’t try to be equal.

Don’t try to be a human.

Pride yourself on berating yourself and your choices, the perfidy to your soul.

“Don’t you dare be a Man!” The monster roars.

Don’t you dare be a man if you don’t want to dive in those swamps.


You see, someone has chosen your life, your abuse as per his own convenience.

You took a plunge in those swamps and fulfilled the need to be a man.

You did?


halcyon hums

Arid chasms that transmute into whetstone

with diamond edges of the petals of water lilies,

hewn out of silvery shards along the ecliptic,

borne upon the plumpness of audacious cravings;

where affluent wisps of halcyon,

ovulate mighty pull of auspices

of the hum of indigenous hummingbirds,

dosing joyous splodges of their gaze

harboured in iridescent swirls of lore

dabbled in delish inflections of spirited longings.


Written in response to Wordle #211 hosted by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie


Affluent

Humming Bird

Dose

Swirl

Mighty

Iridescent

Indigenous

Inspiration

Petals

Spirited

Pull

Lift

mythical creature

Jeff flicked a glance at Shean who was plonked in the armchair warming herself by the side of the flaming embers.

“Have you heard about those gryphons?” asked Jeff nibbling cookies.

“Ooooh, the mystery deepens! Did they prepare a lavish slap-up dinner for you?” Shean batted her eyes smugly.

“Yep, when I stumbled upon them while bivouacking up the Alpine hills…use your noggins!”

“So, what did those ferocious, Argus-eyed mythical beings do?” mellowed she.

Slightly affronted, now, Jeff was browned off.

“They don’t browbeat anyone into storytelling.”


Fiction for the purposeful practitioner: 2020: week #44

Photo source: https://flashfictionforthepracticalpractitioner.wordpress.com

thanks dad

” Thanks Dad for believing in me, in my abilities when no one else did, when all I had was the encounter with envious stares. Thanks for reminding me of my worth when I had those gloomy shadows lurking around me, dancing and devouring me with their disparaging glances, adept at turning bliss to bale. Shit like that! Thanks for reacquainting me with my strength when I had forgotten it entirely. That no one will dare to lay ones dirty hands on me. ” Shane propped her head on his shoulders.

” I wanted my children to be able to stand on their own feet, in every sense. The work you do must have value and it must be returned to you, in terms of honour, respect, satisfaction, joy and bliss, money, the freedom of work. The freedom, the honour one gives, must always receive the value for it else you’re on the thin edge of the wedge where abuse begins. It’s a common tendency that people cling to the abuser because the abuser is always strong. Since it’s planned, they have readymade proofs and explanations. But I tend to observe their true character and intentions. I must stand up to any harm inflicted to you, your dignity, your rights, to anyone who supports the abuse. I can’t tolerate anyone being indecent to you or Jack. I can’t allow anyone grind their own axe or bring their personal agendas and play politics either. I am glad you stick to these values and find something worthy to learn from me.” His voice was soft and determined and his face was glowing with kindness.

” I take pride in being your daughter. Always.”


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in his dotage

When Siena ditched her boyfriend Jim, our eyes were out on stalks.

Poor Jim, never went back on his promises and brought her lollipops every day. He also helped her with her homework. Now fucked by the fickle finger of fate, his hopes were dashed.

Bullish Wen, who always did Jim’s biding, was seething and when he stumbled upon Siena before class, he laughed trollishly at her.

“Didn’t expect such harrowing day. Initially, I thought someone pulled a fast one.” Teena slumped onto the stairs.

“Her new boyfriend is man enough to handle her tantrums or so the story goes.”

“Which class? Is he fit for her?”

” Six A. Soon he will grow a moustache.”

” A boyfriend in his dotage in this big wide world? Phooey!”


#FOWC