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face turmeric smeared,
the dawn is a coy maiden,
that just came of age!
Smearing the face of a girl who just attained puberty with turmeric(which has many functions as a spice in food  with anti-toxic effects, herbal paste for cosmetic and skin protection application etc ) is part of traditional puberty rights  in India.
HeyItsJakeXD Dec 2018
til the sun lights up my night
til the morning be filled with moonlight
i'll be here
waiting for you my love

for i know that if i was meant for thee
then you'll come back to me
and if not, well then goodbye
do not fear for i wont cry
for i know i've set you free

so long sweet lovely maiden of mine
may our fates never again intertwine
for i wish not to have my heart
once again torn dreadfully apart...
On a quiet winter afternoon
Near her balcony,
A lonely maiden sat gazing at the horizon.
Her starry eyes focused at a distant,
Wanting to know what lies beyond.
Under the bright blue sky.

A teen jumps out of his school bus
His face red with a bruise,
He makes his way towards his house.
Exhausted of his unfair life,
He limps as he climbs the stairs.
Under the bright blue sky.

Ten years go by
The two meet in a foreign land,
Bruised, broken and alone.
Their eyes lock in an eternal duel,
In a quiet a lane of a bustling city.
Under the bright blue sky.

Sixty years later
A lady gazes towards the horizon,
Reminiscing her younger times.
As nostalgia plays on the background,
She looks at her husband and smiles.
Under the bright blue sky.

Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2019.
All Rights Reserved.
I finally tried to follow the new pattern, as done by many well-known poets of my generation, the pattern of no rhymes. Although, I must say it was not easy for me, you see I am old school and I like poetry with rhyme. So, I repeated one rhyming line throughout the entire poem just for my satisfaction. Sorry for being selfish and I hope you like it.
William Allen Jan 15
And so the sea, she claimed three.

Taking the Mariner, Maiden, & unborn babe.

Together they shall live
in the cold currents.

Ne'er being separate

For when the sea calls,
the heart must listen.

Giving itself wholly
to the cold and unforgiving tide.

And the sea she sang
a hymnal for thee
a hymnal for three.

Together in the harmony
of the cold
and unforgiving tide.

And the sea she sang
a hymnal for thee
a hymnal for three.
This is part X of a ten-part series titled, "Weathered: A Tale of Love and Loss." This is the final poem of this ten-part series, and I hope that you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing and sharing it with you. If you have any questions about any of the pieces written, or where inspiraition came for each piecce, please reach out to me and I will gladly answer. If oyu would like to see the original format of these pieces, you may find them on instagram at: @speakertyler

Thank you.
William Allen Jan 15
In the sudden moments
her heart sank
one-thousand leagues
into the sea of tears.

The yearning aching heart
beat violently in her chest.

Hands trembling
she reached
for the oil lamp dimly lit.

The slow clapping of bare feet
against those aged cherry floors.

Her delicate hand
pushed open the finished oak door
that led to their sanctuary.

The door,
with all the worlds hope
despair behind it

She gathered her
ivory white slip
and made her way to the shore

The cold rush of the November tide
met her at waist height.

The weight of her despondent heart
would be enough to hold her down.

The top of her auburn hair.

Her footsteps
now but distant memories
of the sand.

Her body now one with the sea.
This is part IX of a ten-part story titled, "Weathered: A Tale of Love and Loss."
When writing this story, I knew from the beginning that I did not want a happy ending. Not for the sake of being sad, but rather because I'm not fond of traditional happy endings in stories. I feel like the weight of the story loses some gravity when it's happy at the end.
William Allen Jan 15
The fire in the belly of the mantle
lowly roars.
With it, the harmony of the beacon.

Though, as with all great scores, there must be an end.

When the last line of the melody is played
and the final note clings to the air
then decays.

As did the beacon so.
Drawing its last breath
and light slipping unto the dark.

With hurried steps
the Maiden makes her climb
Through the cherry staircase
onward and upward
the tower.

Falling, with all of the world's weight,
she weeps.
Her tears darkening the floorboards
like black ink on a yellow stained page

She could feel the call.
This is part VII of a ten-part story titled "Weathered: A Tale of Love and Loss." When creating this story early on, I really wanted to have a section that contained two parts. I felt that using the beacon in this instance would be to the advantage of the story.
William Allen Jan 15
My dearest Olivia,

I write this letter with a heavy heart and yet, an even heavier hand. This vessel takes on water as I blot these old pages with ink. I hold your memory close as flame to a well-oiled wick. Cherishing our fondest moments spent together, and letting them keep me warm in this frigid cold.

The way your ivory slip would rest on your shoulders so delicately as we strolled through the fields of home. How the wind would gently pass through your deep flowing auburn hair, and how sweetly I would tuck the free-flowing strands behind your ears.

I desperately yearn to be back home by your side in the comfort of our chamber, with my hand interlaced with your hair, as the glorious yellow rays seep through our window and slowly fill the room with luminous light.

We shall be together soon, I fear not. And I shall wait to see your hurried steps on heavens golden shores. Weep not for me or for this loss. The sea is beckoning me home.

I hope this letter finds you. I love you,

This is part VII of a ten-part story titled, "Weathered: A Tale of Love and Loss." I wanted to break poetic structure of the story a bit and create a love letter that was believable between the two characters, for the reader. Here's to hoping that I did that for you.

William Allen Jan 15
The calm blue
now gave way to fervent gray skies.

Furies of cloud burst
rattled like musket fire against the sails!

Thunder bellowed & wind tore
sails as if the were made of paper so fine.

Lightning sparked across the sky
revealing the twisted face of the sea.

For this storm knows now what it takes
and shall hold no fear

With heavy heart this burden
I bear.

The sound of masts snapping like bone
under pressure too great
splintering into jagged memories
with violent intent.
This is part VI of a ten-part story titled "Weathered: A Tale of Love and Loss." This particular piece may get re-worked a touch and elongated. But for now, this is it.

William Allen Jan 14
The wind gently pushed through sails,
carrying the vessel further from shore.

Seas still with timid temper
this was the calm before the storm.

Oh the fabled calm
how many a weary sailor
sang its song.
The beauty before the gale and the fall.

Boards speak softly
as the ship sweetly

Blue crests swell
raising & lowering
the vessel as if to rock her
to sleep.

Oh the fabled calm
how many a weary sailor
sang its song.
The beauty before the gale and the fall.
This is part V of a ten-part story titled "Weathered: A Tale of Love and Loss"
When writing this piece, colors without saturation were coming to mind so I wanted to try and convey that here.

William Allen Jan 14
The whirring of the beacon
drummed low and steady

The light burning its way
through the night

That light,
oh how brightly it shone

For it stayed lit
to guide the mariner

At night
during day
The maiden, oh how sweetly she'd

That beacon, fueled by love
contested the sun
and its brilliant shine.

For it stayed lit
to guide the mariner
This is part IV of a ten-part series titled "Weathered: A Tale of Love and Loss"
This particular piece came at a point of self-reflection that I had and so that emotion bled into this work rather freely.

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