A rainy evening

Slow soft drizzle of first showers,

As the water slides down the towers.

Kids on the street rejoice in rain,

For some, the raindrops help hide the tears of pain.

A couple walks hand in hand, recreating a romantic scene

Someone sits by the window, wondering what could have been.

Some enjoy the fresh smell of petrichor

Some sigh and worry how this will hamper their chores.

Some go for a drive to feel the wind on their face

Some push through crowded platforms, with an umbrella that has seen better days.

Some enjoy the lighting as the skies get dark

Others wonder, next day how to get to work?

Indifferent to them all, the raindrops continue to fall

For nature doesn’t distinguish amongst them all.

(C) Sneha Pathak

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Oceans apart

Tapping rains on window sill

As I lay there still.

Listening to the rhythmic tap

As the summer sun gleams on other side of the map.

We try to defy time and sleep

We laugh, we ponder, we bicker, we weep.

Different skies, oceans apart

But with you, my heart did depart.

So we carve a space for us two,

Somewhere between where nights end and days start anew.

I leave this verse just at these few lines,

And I fall asleep thinking of golden times.

(C) sneha pathak

Mon Amour

Here’s my entry for this week’s tale – 3 Line tales

She had forgotten all about that exciting week in Paris where she felt one with herself, free-spirited and full of hope inspired by all the artists, museums and most of all, her time with the charming young French poet she fell in love with.

The smell of children’s socks had replaced the fresh baked goods smell from the boulangeries, the screams of her husband had replaced the poets tender rhymes, the callouses on her hands from the chores had replaced the feeling of soft silk dresses she wore in Paris.

But today, as her youngest daughter took off for college, she visited her husband’s grave one last time, bid her farewell and as she began to drive away, she looked back one last time at this city which she was planning to leave forever to chase a dream that was breathed to life again by the letter in her hand that contained the following words – “J’attends toujours mon amour*”

 

*I am still waiting my love

 

(c) Sneha Pathak

Dinner table conversation

Like a iron hammer striking a metal gong
The spoon clashes against the plate
Playing crude, loud, lonely songs
Of love, heartbreak and fate.

The old chair creaks under my touch, the one that we picked out together
The one you always wanted to get rid of for a newer design
You see I held on to it,
For my hope unlike yours, does not resign.

The pale white plates with light blue flowers clatter as I put them on the table,
The state of which, is also no longer stable.

This creaking, clatter and clashes, make noises make a symphony
Helping me fill this silence melancholy.
Even though my heart can’t stand this separation,
This melody, makes up for our missing dinner table conversation.

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. )