Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Eyes wild, ringed red, gazing out of the page --

   the watcher over the wilderness
   does not sleep.

In the forest primeval
   there is a glade — the real world
   of our filth bleeds in
   drop by drop, reddening
   the sky, and Öli
       witnesses all.

Haunted by apparitions
   of fear, figments
   coming to presence,
   barely corporeal in the dappled sun,
   the great owl knows better
       than to turn away from the unknown;

The aperture, sealed, was yet
   made to be opened, and though
   the devil tree, screaming blood, vomiting
   anguish into the wastes, was felled
      and the blasted heath reclaimed by the forest,

Daring trees grow sparsely
   and wither around the gnarled stump
   where He who has seen too much
   waits, hoping that stupid ******* coyote
   does not bring the city back with him

      ...again
What is it like to be a prophet?
To bleed visions the world calls madness,
to carry the storm in your lungs
and still be asked to speak sweetly.

I ran.
Through temples, through time, through the mouths of sleeping gods.
I ran, hoping to outrun the fire,
only to find my shadow already waiting-
etched into every horizon by hands not my own.

The gods marked me with knowing,
then stripped me of the right to be believed.
They call it a gift.
But it is a wound that sings.

Let the sky tremble at my silence now.
Let the earth remember what it means
to be cursed with truth.
This is what it means to be haunted by truth no one wants.
(A Modern Draupadi Speaks)


I go by many names —
Draupadi then.
Ananya, Zoya, Meena now.
Or sometimes just, “a girl.”
The one on the screen.
The one they spoke of in whispers.
The one who should’ve stayed quiet,
or stayed home,
or stayed gone.

---

They say —
Look, how late she comes home.
Look, what she’s wearing.
Look how she talks...
Walks...
Laughs too loudly.
Speaks too clearly.
Lives too freely.
And somehow,
it is always her fault
for being seen
at all.

---

Draupadi was traded once —
in a game,
while kings sat still,
watched,
and chose not to speak.
Now, Draupadis are traded every day —
in boardrooms,
in backrooms,
in promises that sound like love,
in silences that sound like safety.

---

They don’t call me Draupadi now.
I walk into courtrooms,
not palaces.
No royal sabha,
just white lights, wooden chairs,
and cold stares.

No one rolls dice anymore.
Now, they roll footage.
Loop my silence on screens.
Zoom into my tears.
Rewind my pain
for ratings.

And still,
no one asks me what I felt.

---

They call me victim,
but not of my own making.
They call me brave,
but only when I remain silent,
when I am invisible
and unspoken.
They don't know that courage,
true courage,
is standing in the storm
and not asking for shelter.

--

They say they respect women.
And they do —
just not enough to believe them.

And when I speak,
they say,
“Why so angry?”

Because I am.
Because I have to beg for justice
with every breath.
Because I still carry my dignity
in a purse zipped tight
in case it’s questioned again.

---

I am not here for pity.
Not here to be saved.
I do not need rescue.
What I need is to be seen.
What I need is not salvation,
but for the world to stop
turning my dignity into a prize,
a coin,
a wager in someone else’s game.

I am not asking for rescue.
Not for cloth from the sky.
Not for gods to intervene.

I want
a place
where no woman needs to prove
she did not deserve
to be destroyed.

---

I was never your sacrifice.
I was never your symbol.
I was never your choice
to make.

And when I speak —
hear me.
Not as a story to tell,
but as a woman to listen.
A woman who was
and is
and always will be.

I am not a myth.
I am the truth
that stands in front of you.
And I am still here.
Because I am not a myth.


©️ Susanta Pattnayak
Manx May 23
Just conquer your fear and confront the Minotaur, child!
You see; I'm not supposed to tell you this,
As secrecy is part of the rites,
But man is but a beast!
And that beast in there with you is no bull,
Just a person!

Talk to them! Outwit them! Fight them!

Listen, it's an island - but it's large seas.
Listen, it's an ocean - but it's on a gigantic boulder.

We're just trying to raise you up from childhood into adolescence.
The disorientation or anxiety you may suffer
Is only temporary,
And the environment around you is safe.
We're a small community,
This has been a pretty solid rite of passage.
All agree, we emerge more resilient.
We emerge more confident.
Such states of ignorance & fear
Truly forces one to assess
Their best courses of action.
Your choices within
Help you better understand yourself
And, therefore, us as well.
Such things give you a better idea
Of what you might like
To do with your life
And what position or role
You would best be suited for.

Do you feel lost? Ask for directions!
Use the dark! Knick the map off them!
Get the jump! Hide around a corner & ambush them!

It's just a maze! Not a prison.
The fresco at the house of M. Gavius Rufus shows a village mortified by a patently crazed Theseus. The children, all except one, celebrate what they do not understand. One, prostrated on the ground, makes eye contact with a skull and possibly the withered remains of a wreath or garland.
He was of Athens, not of Crete. Different culture, different upbringing. Contenders normally show mercy to defeated or yielding opponents. He thought he was doing the right thing by slaying him. Clearly, quite the mad man.
Manx May 23
Time Is,
Not by any means
Of your dictation,
Probabilistic.

If participation required observation,
Than simply not perceiving
Would be the solution - no?

Time Is
Not, by any means
Of your ignorance,
Deterministic.

But then, even those without sense
Still experience within this experience.
As yet - senselessness itself is something yet sensed.

Raveled,
Something yet sensed?
Unraveled,
Something sensed yet?

Stillness,
Self-immolation by self-consumption
Which gave rise to the Phoenix.
Motion,
Scales break with scales
Like the Moon slithers.
Manx May 22
Temple of Artemis;
Steal the cheese,
But remember
It isn't free!
For Artemis is always hunting!
Hunger.
But who puts out the dairy?
Wisdom.

For the kid who doesn't
Feel the need to thieve.
For the outsider of the pack;
For who wanders back
Carrying foodstuffs
They foraged,
They collected.

This is a leader.

"For why did you not steal, coward?!"
"I am not cowardly."
"Not fit then, lackey!?"
"I can lift, I can run."
"Then what was it?"
"The others couldn't."
"Your kind then, eh?!
You're kind then, eh!?"
"I'm good
As long as 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥."

It is for the stranger of the temple
Who is no stranger to the temple!

One who cares for the altars, one & all.
A way of life from long ago, from long before those old ancients ever wrote it down. Remnants of larger unity & organization among the Greeks, from like times before the mythical Trojans.
It's funny when you read works from the ancient world on mythology - its meanings and their origins. The most learned must even confess to ignorance or outright confusion from lack of knowledge via record or experience.
craig apogee May 15
The life of a mortal is one of contradiction. Contradiction of mind and body.
Contradiction of choice and fate.
When we stare into divine eyes,
It all seems to align.
When she breaks your gaze.
Well.
Ain't that a *****.
Wooden spoon for you. dear sir.
Ask questions. Get answers.
Make better decisions.
Ffs.
Poem from February 2024. A snapshot into my emotions and thoughts
I S A A C May 7
everyday is a new knife
inserted into my side
burdened without your eyes
i want you on me like clothes
i need you to fasten my ropes
nobody else knows how i unfold
you grab me with conviction
i cannot resist your temptation
i bathe in you like vacation
do not leave me like calypso
do not wound me with arrows
i’ll be psyche you be eros
Seeking embrace of the azure expanse,
A dreamer sought warmth, the value of trance.
With wings of hope, towards the sun he soared,
Seeking a freedom so deeply ignored.

Ambition seen sinister, but yet, of youth's call.
To rise above, and never to fall.
The heavens wept, for they knew his price.
For a flight too close to their own paradise.

The mournful sea watched, as his feathers deveined.
Embracing a dare, courage unrestrained.
A tale not of folly, but of a spirit so free.
A reminder of hope against fragility

In his descent, I see my reflection.
A shared desire of unbridled direction.
Not a tale sinister, nor of scorned flight,
But a hymn to the ones still chasing the light.

♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
Manx May 6
Odin & Mímir;
A one-eyed leader,
A paralyzed ascetic.
One traded vison for vison,
One traded appendage for appendage.
From two stylite existences,
Compassion for compassion.
Perspective for perspective,
From working together.

But is it all meant to be taken as mental?
But is it all meant to be taken literal?
Next page