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Neelam Jun 2
Nuances in nature

endowed by inured sky

hung overhead the

arid land.


Gliding serpentines,

feminine effigies attuned to the

melodramatic curb, fending off

seductive whispers.


Scatching wounds

echoing the frail existence,

vanity of the patriarchs

engulfed the land,

overshadowing the Sun.
This poem revolves around the life of Indian women born in rural areas under patriarchal culture. Women are regarded as Shakti (power) in Hinduism, with Kundalini as the latent mystical force in a human being symbolized in serpentine form. However, under the patriarchal society, Indian women/girls are disempowered (wounded) and they are unable to embrace their natural gifts endowed by the Divine.
PM Mar 20
There, is a story little known,
Which came to light when the ruse had worn.
Of membranes torn;
And gallantry ill-worn.

Now you see, Snow-White as all of you’ve read,
Was not as boring as you’ve been fed.
She was a maiden fair,
That to question I do not dare.

But, besides that there is more to the tale,
Which is not as stale,
As the same pompous banter.
That, without having uttered two words, they lived happily ever after.

There, you see is a simple formula to this potion,
Of grand love, and romantic notions.
Where the man is a Prince, Oh! That simply cannot be altered.
And a fair maiden whose virtue has never faltered.

He is rich, she is fair.
All’s well with the world, so have no care.
They will see each other just once.
It does not matter if he be a dunce.



Love will certainly flow, there’s no point in taking it slow.
So off they will go,
Riding into a mandatory sunset.
With satiated readers and expectations met.

Now, as you know, in this tale of love and woe,
There must be a wicked woman, there is no other way to go.
For, it is a fact known to all.
Women are the wickedest of them all.

For, how could step-mommy leave it be?
That Snowy was getting prettier than she.
Tell me, have you heard of such a rarity,
Where women who are so full of vanity,

Managed to love a child that wasn’t her own.
Hence, stepmothers are the stock villain, and that is a fact well-known.

Now, Snow White was, as you’ve guessed, white as snow;
And being fair does a long way go.
Mommy dearest couldn’t stand that, women are petty we all know,
Even if they don’t always show.

So, she sent her lackey to chop off Snowy’s head;
And the queen was sure, Snowy was dead.
But the lackey had gotten soft and fuzzy.
And had let Snowy run-off after getting a little cozy.

Now, Snowy ran and ran and came to a small house.
Fit for none but a rather big mouse.
But dainty as she was,
She crawled through the moss.

She entered the little house and saw a warm cozy den.
She had run a long way; and was in a good deal of pain.
So, she lay down on one oddly small but cozy bed.
And slept for hours as if she were dead.

When she awoke, Snowy lay amidst stubby little men.
All in all they were seven.
They weren’t ugly little midgets at all.
But granted, they weren’t really that tall.

Well, they did look quite good.
Sadly, Snowy’s stomach lurched only for food.
Days went by, the little men kept Snowy safe and sound.
And now a strange feeling in her heart was found.

Snowy had a courting Prince back at home.
Funnily, who hadn’t even noticed that she was gone.
But all the while as she thought of her Prince and his face,
He faded far off, and she went into a daze.

Now, there was this handsome stubby dwarf, his name was Sneezy,
And his manner rather gallant and breezy.


He wasn’t the plump, bulbous nosed oaf so old.
As you’ve so often been told.
He was a jaunty good lad,
Snowy liked him better than the Prince; even if a tad.

Snowy in her heart felt warm and fuzzy,
And her little bed was amply cozy.
One day when the other six stubbys were off into the forest,
Sneezy professed his love for his dearest.

Snowy was smitten.
The pompous Prince forgotten.
One kiss followed another kiss,
On that odd cozy bed, they found their bliss.

Snowy and Sneezy lived happily for the time being.
Till, her oblivious Prince was alerted of this scene.
Of a happy Snow-White living with her chubby, little mate.
He rode through the forest, and knocked at their gate.

He was livid to see that Snowy had found, of all people a Dwarf.
The thought itself made him ****.
Better dead than compromised he frowned.
“Oh! I wish you were drowned”.

“How can you live with men?” he blubbered.
Now, here is a maiden with virtue altered.
To avenge his honor, he challenged Sneezy to a duel,
Seeing that he was half his height, wasn’t that rather cruel?

Now, somedays before this had occurred.
Snowy’s news by the evil stepmother was discovered.

Learning she was still alive and well,
With anger did her heart swell.
She decided to take matters into her own hands.
And thereby took up a disguise, as it stands

She set out with a poisoned apple.
Well, there again for every mischief an apple is a staple.
On Snowy’s door she knocked to peddle.
The crimson, yet deadly apple.

Now, Snowy here was smarter than she did look.
Didn’t I say, she wasn’t as boring as mistook.
Having well recognized mummy dear,
She took the apple and tossed it near.

Presently, with a repentant look, and show of care,
Before the Prince she laid out her snare.
Knowing well her beloved Sneezy,
Though gallant would die in a tizzy.

She offered this apple to the pompous Prince,
Who bit into it without so much as a wince.
Believing it to be an abject offering,
For her indiscretions, and virtue faltering.

His Royal Highness plonked on the ground.
In a deep slumber, so sound.
Thus, was saved her little Sneezy.
Gallant, stubby with a manner so breezy.

Well, the Prince, he slept in utter peace.
Awaiting to be woken by true love’s kiss.
But fair maidens you see, do not kiss.
For fear their reputation go amiss.

As for Snowy and Sneezy,
Their love kept them busy.
And they lived as happily as one could.
When living in a small hut, down in the woods.
A subverted tale battling the age old norms and stock plots, with a humorous twist.
Juliet Nov 2020
You are rain,
Accepted in comfort,
Born in love,
And never of hate.

I am storm,
Welcomed by protest,
Born with rage,
And never of love.

You were handed a spoonful of rice,
Because of the beauty you helped grew.
I was given an uncooked grain of rice,
Because of growth I have destroyed.

For hundreds of years,
And thousands after that,
You were the symbol for everything:
Strength, beauty, power, wisdom.
Whilst I am the symbol
Of things that I have long been fighting for
And deemed a monster
Whenever I try to do so.
Sanmi Pawar Nov 2020
She stood by the door, with tear-stricken eyes;
A small-little push, and they'd be inside.
She thought of her mother, who left her all alone;
She wished for a father, who would care her like his own.
Her thoughts were broken, by the furious bangs on the door;
She begged the Lord of mercy, even if she wasn't the one wrong.
Her frail body was thrown aside, as they rushed into the room;
She closed her dead eyes, awaiting her doom.
Throughout the push and pull, she did not utter a word;
For she knew her mistake, of being born as a Girl.
The world has grown around her womb,

The beginning of all beginnings, the onus of creation upon whom.

While it is her whose life slowly ebbs away,

At the hands of the manics and the fools.

Her hands chained, mind refrained,

Tongue tied and body veiled.

Lies be sold, this is your world behold!

Here your prejudices are yours only, but your pride is collectively owned,

Of the family you are born in, and the family of your future,

And the society that allows you to breathe any further.

So don’t you dare, this is a world prepared

By some to define your modesty and others to violate it beyond repair.

Caught between the two, ever so stretched thin,

Striving for approvals when discontent is where you are stuck in.

Rather learn to live in this moratorium of rules,

That pays no heed to your desires, your esteem, your needs or your moods.

Your life has never been yours, a conjugation of time tested judgements,

A world build around everyone’s opinions and your very own helplessness.
Clare Feb 2014
In your anger
you opened your heart.
I saw the picture
you painted of me.
What baseness!
Only recognizable point
is the fullness
of my lips that look
freshly invaded.

Some things never
change, though feelings do.

Feelings change.
Every lub-dub that
disturbs the surface
Shrieks at me - you liar!
You two-faced *****,
Begone! Even Eros dare not
let you be loved again.

A tear or two wash down
the wounds fresh on flesh
Surfacing charred waste
of what you once cherished in me.
Every time you read a story from a man's perspective, i beg you, think about the woman's story. Through ages, they have been muted, or worse, ignored.
is
my
feminism
measured
by
your
misogyny?

do
you
see
the
patriarchy
that
is
trying
to
escape
me?
escaping the patriarchy
noelle Oct 2020
you call women *******,
but men bosses.
you force women to cover up,
but men walk around half naked.
you call us ***** for having ***,
but men are praised for it.
you tell us what to do with our bodies,
but men refuse to do the same to theirs.  
you say it was our fault,
but we never asked to be sexualized.
you say you want a strong man,
but i am a strong woman.

we are equals,
we deserve respect,
we demand more.

we are women,
and we are powerful.
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