Circle of Power

A little bit of supernatural for today’s Three Line Tales

She was a sweet little girl who had always imagined her life would be perfect and filled with all things magical – a prince on a white horse and all things lovely.

Life had another plan, and as they say “It’s written” in the stars, for living in orphanages, to her foster mother’s cruelties, bullies at school and lack of love had taken away every inch of hope, except that of true love.

Therefore, when she gave it all to him and he broke her heart, she had no option but to give up the idea of magic and focus on witchcraft and today she stands on the sacrificial green circle of power – ready to sacrifice that jerk and gain her full powers as a witch.

 

  • Sneha Pathak (c)

All is fair, for love is war

We are skillful fighters,

You and I.

Our weapon of choice?

Knife-like words of ice.

We hide behind promises of love eternal,

Masking skillfully, the venom internal.

We take oaths of a love so pure,

We then inflict wounds, that have no cure.

For when the healer poisons your medicine,

Where do you go to recover from that ailment obscene?

So we wait for death, as we fatigued lie.

We are skillful fighters,

You and I.

After the war, we swear allegiance to each other

After so many battles, shouldn’t we know better?

These treaties are a disguise,

To keep the enemy close, the one we despise.

That way, we can attack them in their sleep,

We can shower them with love, then make them weep.

We can poke swords where it hurts the most,

After we have known their secrets innermost.

For betrayal has a sweet taste,

A slow hunt, not one of haste.

For our desire for mutual self-destruction keeps us tied.

We are skillful fighters,

You and I.

We have pierced each other’s souls now

Taking away hope, filling it with sorrow.

Yet, we never leave,

For this is love, we believe.

Even as we lie under different skies,

Yet again tears filling up our eyes,

We never say our goodbyes

For we are skillful fighters,

You and I.

 

© Sneha Pathak [Rights Reserved]

Analysis of Mariana – Lord Alfred Tennyson

Hello readers,

Before I begin the analysis, here is a link to the poem for those of you who haven’t read it yet – Click here

Mariana is a poem describing the despair and isolation of a woman in an isolated home.

The poem describes the passing of time, the surroundings, the objects in the vicinity of the woman all reflecting the gloominess of her life.

The following lines are repeated after every stanza, in some way or the other –

 “I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!”

This describes the extent of the despair felt by the woman. She feels cut off from the world, lonely, deserted by her lover.

She spends her days in tears and her nights wide awake, wishing for death, for she cannot bear the absence of love.

Here are a few lines from me on the topic of waiting for your love.

In the morning sun, 
As I watch the children run
Happy and carefree, 
My hear whispers, 
Oh I how I envy thee!
For I miss the times I was free.
Free from the shackles of love 
The clouds of gloom above. 
A simpler time, 
When I was content with my rhyme.
Your absence now pricks my heart
I curse myself, for letting this story start.
I swallow my pride to hear your voice,
Even hearing your indifference would suffice. 
But why did you come through this door dear?
When all your promises were a lie. 

The dark side of love, one of utter despair where no voice is enough to fill the silence. Where no person is enough to fill the gap left by them. Where nothing holds your interest when life itself seems like a burden is projected in this poem.

Which is why perhaps, the woman, in the end, accepts the bitter reality that her love will not come.

Do share your views after reading the poem!
(Disclaimer: Following a few lines by an amateur poet in poetry by Tennyson is foolhardy. However, I am doing this to continue writing poems while reading this book Taking inspiration perhaps. )

Living in Duality

A girl sits by the seaside,

Adding to the saltiness of the sea

Drop by drop.

Contemplating broken dreams and lost hope.

A photographer, with his lenses in position

Captures a picturesque shot.

In the viewer’s perception of beauty,

Sorrow somewhere got lost. 

Both of them living their truth,

One sees beauty, one dwells in sorrows at that moment,

Each living their own version of the truth

Oblivious, to the other’s perception of reality,

Together, they coexist in this indifferent duality.

 

© Sneha P [ Rights Reserved ]

 

 

 

The cruel side of beauty

As I walked through the maze of wealth and power,

Glancing through screams trapped in glass cases.

Ivory, they called it.

Cruelty, I knew it.

My eyes marveled at the beauty of the sculptures

My mind, however, questioned this culture.

One where we take something

That in its nature is beautiful without interference

And destroy it to create something of relevance.

This ivory from those creatures innocent,

Stolen from them for our merriment.

They took Gods gift, in its form primal

And hit it repeatedly to make a stone idol.

An idol of worship, nevertheless

But humanity was lost in the process.

Now when I see these works of art,

I will see the creatures, at the very  start

When people hear prayers and hymns,

I will hear the pain and screams.

 

© Sneha P [Rights Reserved 2019]

 

 

 

Moments of Bliss

Soft lapping of waves on the beach,

Crisp winds whispering secrets each.

The sound of crisp paper being turned,

Blissful moments on the porch, very dearly earned.

The soft texture of grass under your feet,

The warm taste of hot chocolate on a winter night, oh so sweet.

The crackling of paper as you unwrap a present,

The fresh blooming primrose and their beckoning scent.

Waking up to mornings with hot tea and someone to hold close,

Cold evenings and warm winter clothes.

A few moments of bliss to count on your finger tips,

Of poetry like this, rolling off your lips.

 

(c) Sneha P [Rights Reserved]

A lost fight

On a cold dark night,

A tiny lone candle fights.

To slay the darkness

To spread out the light.

She had always won against soft breezes,

But her spirit grows weak as the cold increases.

The wind is a fearsome opponent

The candle grows weak and despondent.

As the darkness begins to take over the room,

The candle envies the light of the moon.

For no winds could put it out, on most days

She desperately tried to hold on to its ray.

Its tears trickle over its body shyly

It’s spirit dying away, slowly.

They tried to shade her light by their two hands

But she knew, a chance she did not stand.

As they struggled to keep her lit with all their might,

She exhaled her last words slowly,

Sometimes it’s okay to embrace the darkness of the night.

 

© Sneha P [Rights Reserved] 2018.