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Sep 2016 · 552
Stink!
Prahaas Oldman Sep 2016
Clink, clink, clanky clink,
she can feel her ornaments cling,
with one another - with her flesh,
she is tired, she is famished,
the stink of her sweat, all fresh, on her skin,
clink, clink, clanky, clink,
the bed creaks as her thoughts cling,
with one another, to her mother, brother, father,
to her childhood, to her friends, to her favorite cake,
to a piece of bread, that she hasn’t had, since the evening-
and overall - her stink!
Clink, clink, clanky, clink - the pace fastens,
who is the man within-
filling her up, taking her by force,
and yet she is abiding by - him?
Think, think, thap-thap -what was she thinking?
The thought is gone, he is not looking at her,
she is not looking at him - and yet he is ****** her,
and she is aiding him - clink. Clink.
Why couldn’t she marry the one, who filled her womb,
who accepted her, whom she desired too?
Caste, religion, tradition,
father, mother, that ******* brother,
all thought they were marrying her off-
To a stranger? Well, this tradition is prostitution.
He doesn’t even know how to pronounce her name,
and yet he is ******* her - how naive, how naive?
And soon he will be done,
and soon he will roll over and lie,
close his eyes - Die, she wants him to ******* die.
And she shall lie there in a pool of dreams,
with the clink, clink, clanky, clink,
echoing even in her sleep,
and her soul is lost, somewhere amidst,
this unfamiliar stink!
From The Collection Of Feminist Poetry 'Vanilla'.
Sep 2016 · 569
Me Within Myself!
Prahaas Oldman Sep 2016
My mind-
is a slum of dreams,
around half of my thoughts,
flies linger-
while the other half,
are lost in childhood screams.
My heart,
with each beat,
craves another start,
which it has, of course-
but this one too,
is the exact replica of the previous-
duh!
My stomach,
is always in need,
always hungry, always thirsty,
in my being, is its being,
in its being, is mine-
and yet I cannot fulfill its needs,
it is greedy, my mumma told me,
like us-
it has no conscience.
My ***,
it doesn’t matter if its long and whole,
or is merely a deep insatiable hole,
it shall never be complete,
in entirety,
without the aid of someone,
craving for every *** who comes my way,
longing to fill it up,
and then emptiness shall fill it,
yet again-
for my life is-
very much empty-
like a void,
like the lives of many-
like my ***-
unfulfilled and moist.
From The Collection Of Feminist Poetry 'Vanilla'.
Sep 2016 · 579
Rant!
Prahaas Oldman Sep 2016
I will not bend,
rather will stand straight,
if not - I will break.
Shall snap right into two,
finished am I?
******* ******,
for I am whole again-
I shall not be deformed,
I shall not be a freak,
break me into two,
it’s worth the pain.
If it’s cruel for a while,
if I am not messed up for life,
then bend me not,
break me for once and all,
making me whole again.
From The Collection Of Feminist Poetry 'Vanilla'.
Aug 2016 · 468
Karmasutra
Prahaas Oldman Aug 2016
All the noises in the world shall subside,
while in the melody of melancholy shall we rest-
and when those full of life shall knock upon our doors,
they will be greeted by the songs of our souls -
of the roads taken - of the rail roads slept,
of the voyages sailed through, of trinkets gathered,
of the darlings abandoned, of the mistakes we leapt.
The sun shall drown to ignite the night -
we remember our lost brothers amidst the starry skies,
spiraling down to an abrupt halt at painful stops -
Smoking marijuana along the vast emptiness of
the desolated streets of memories -
remembering, hoping, crying, screaming -
intellects caged in the shape of apes -
drifting apart from sanity!
Look in the eye of a madman - utmost kind,
and yet so cruel - aged with time -
his humble ego - shattered yet alive,
as he prepares to venture to the other side,
all alone, leaving all behind -
the meaningless **** of the futile life,
I met a madman once - though a stranger to-
-his dizzy glance - he embraced me like a brother,
and talked of things that I knew not - but -
from the words that trespassed my ears -
it was clear that I was meant to.
"Know not the world, grow not knowing it,
know not what's right, grow not learning it,
know not what's God, grow not worshiping it,
know what you are, grow not deceiving it,
know what survival is, grow not eluding it,
know what your love is, grow not forgetting it"
Take off from the stale old ***** of the shore,
where dear old hope broke our soul -
the shattered pieces of which -
touched a thousand places -
floating beneath the chill of the moonlight coal -
for one day - in the sinful premise of life,
a light shall flicker to give birth to a vision,
visible only when closed are our eyes -
like enlightenment brewing within meditation.

— The End —