Ophelia's Mistakes

I see people,

People intoxicated by the pictures and paintings of Ophelia's

Flowery death.

Her death image gives them aesthetic pleasure,

As controlled women always gave them.

Her hairs afloat, start to sleep on to the water,

Flowers shrouding her body,

Eyes open to a world of her own,

Singing songs of despair.

But little did she realize the danger,

The danger of clinging on to a hopeless end,

Like the bough that broke beneath her.

She was beneath the procrastinated love,

That demanded her to leave for a nunnery,

Where she could have grown out of love,

Leaving a dull yet moving life in her,

Under the orders of others.

Little did she understand the fleeting

Feelings inside men,

The constant tribulations of mind,

That demand their essence and

Drink off the sanity.

She mistook the words and its soul,

She made her life revolve around one improper love,

She didn't realize the wonders in life beyond romantic love,

Or no one helped her.

Deaths made her mourn,

It took over her fragile mind,

Making garlands of wildflowers,

Climbing into a willow tree,

She left her soul in the tree

And made her body floating in the water,

To be the talk of the country,

To teach young girls of love and chained lives.

Yet her silk garments trapped air to stay afloat,

But her body decided to sink,

Deep down,

Turning herself an image for

Fighter of dignity,

And a symbol of women lost in social chains.

Oh, Ophelia, these are your mistakes.

A. C

Comments

Recognition

'Happy Women's Day ' Those three words transformed her. It changed her imperfections into Perfections. It fastened her daily Chores. It gifted a smile to her Face. It motivated her Spirits. It gave rhythm to her Heartbeats. It made her Hairs dance. It increased the sweetness of her Lullaby. It brought back the glitters in her Eyes. It was the recognition from her Husband. A.C

Dear Gretta

Dear Gretta, Your songs are like a poem that was long forgotten, that gives a dejavu everytime I listen to it. It reminds me of New York City where you felt alone, where you were ditched by Dave and where you found yourself through Dan. You were never ready to compromise, you were fully conscious of what you were doing and never doubted your own instincts. Even when you felt a connection with Dan, you helped Violet to reconnect with him, bringing out the beautiful guitarist in her, which eventually got him back to his family. Yet you smiled for being the reason behind reuniting Dan with his family, you smiled even when you knew that this would leave you all alone again. You gave yourself truly into your songs that you could not tolerate the loss of its essence, the mere commercialization of it. You breathed music, danced and walked with it. Even when you knew that those are fleeting moments, the moments in New York City where every song in you...

Blame Me!

Blame me for not being you. For not reflecting your perceptions. For being me. For blooming the flowers of odd hues in my garden. For carrying a heart full of poetry and mind full of seasons. For being summer than spring, For being mist than rain, For listening than speaking, And for scattering than gathering. Blame me for deviating from the ideal human, Because my pursuits of happiness are different from yours. A.C

THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

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