THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

  Kate Winslet as Mare Sheehan in 'Mare of Easttown' gives us the perfect portrayal of middle aged woman that we have been wanting for so long. Instead of giving us the sexualized, all perfect, extremely talented and beautiful typical heroine, we have Mare who is shown as a normal human being, flawed, at times selfish, unglamorous with a bulgy belly. As humans, we are not perfect, we are flawed at certain ways. Similarly Mare do not have a perfect relationship with everyone around her. She doesn't try to  work on it just in the fear of facing it. We listen people constantly reminding us "to face our demons" , but that's not easy as heard. We all are afraid to the core of reliving all the past, the traumas, the unsaid words, the mistakes, the happy moments. Mare is one of us. It requires a lot of time and courage to face our fears after several failed confrontations like Mare. She is expected by everyone to fulfill her duties as a mother, daughter,wife and frie

   Today is my birthday.  My father surprised me with a huge cake And gifted me many presents.  When he told me to make a wish before blowing candles,  I said loudly I want to be like that Lady on the television,  The lady that wears the red blouse and  Who says about things like war, politics, and in some other places difficult to pronounce.  Father told me I can be like her when I grow up And then I can also learn everything about the places the lady says.  But I didn't know, I will be homeless on my birthday,  To step out of what I told my friends 'my home',  To abandon the tv where the lady appears,  To leave my birthday decorations,  To lose the space in the bed between my father and mother.  We were made to move out to nowhere,  There were thousands like us,  I don't understand why we are made to leave our place,  Father says it is because they see us as different,  It is because they don't see us as friends but foes,  Just like the girl in red bun sees me at

  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

  Your face has started to fade away It's now at some place that makes me blind,  I don't understand how this happens,  Were you so insignificant to me?  Or have you changed a lot from the past?  But I remember every single thing you said,  Every punctuation and apostrophe Every road and bus we took.  I wonder why your face is fading,  When I remember how we cycled through the fields in the summer,  How you read me Neruda,  battling with the breeze that turned the pages constantly.  How can your face fade away, When I remember the sensuality I felt every time your hands rubbed against my skin,  The times we spent under fluorescent lights of your van.  Your face has started to fade away,  Even when I don't forget how time  Flew when we spent weeks Exploring the strange roads in the Countryside.  How is this possible?  When I have a clear picture of  your little ecstasies  surrounding the odd things,  The way you arranged home with  white curtains and yellow flowers,  The tri

  Taming me is not as easy as you think,  For you cannot contain me in your  Petty accounts of suppression.  If you think of taming me,  Honey, you have to think twice.  I'm not easy as the animals you tame,  Or your subordinates you have at your beck and call.  No, I'm not questioning your taming abilities,  For which you are renowned.  But I'm overconfident about my abilities to overpower you.  The fire and my silk dress made of years of struggle Are great warriors and killers.  They can torture you and your allies,  With the faces and lives of people, you have trampled down,  They retaliate your atrocities through their cries and curses.  My dear, you may not have any idea,  But it is not easy to tame me.  You judge my appearance and make a move with your whip,  But your whip can be crushed and thrown in four directions,  Which grow and produce thorns of insecurities around you.  Even if you come like a chameleon,  I can identify you,  With your foul mouth and indecency

  I overslept on the cosy couch,  Once again,  I bet the bugs recognised me,  The clock ticked on my time,  The wind gossiped with the trees about my secret.  I bet they would talk about my last  resolution,  Not to come here again,  To visit him.  But two bottles of island wine and some sweet talks at the bar Made me come here.  I read his eyes when he looked at me,  There was despair and sleeplessness.  In the air of intoxication and between the dimming lights,  I tried to read his lips,  I sensed the different alphabets  trying to escape the choking In his mouth.  I remember strolling through the city,  Amidst the happy cries of children And honking of vehicles.  At times I tripped and he held me,  Telling 'I got you'.  But he didn't, I tripped again In front of the church,  By the parking lot,  In the sidewalks of the city fair,  Where the horses of the merry-go-round mocked at me While galloping around the center.  My haziness overpowered my senses,  Before I get here,

  She promised me she would wait at the other side,  Convinced me they won't touch her,  Because she is one of them.  But on the other side, I cannot find her,  Except for the ring that lies, dipped in soil.  We came all this way, for the ring,  How irrelevant has our love turned out to be for her people?  She said it was the ring she saved for me,  And made it for me, the day she came out,  As eternal love served by the lines on the ring, She has become my eternal anguish.  I search for her everywhere,  Even her people, who think I have bewitched her,  Acts indifferent, the ones who saw her for the last time.  I know you have made her disappear to a realm,  Where I cannot bewitch her.  But I cannot offer you that promise.  I have lost track of time,  She was always the courageous one,  To stand beside me,  And assured me fight in this war together,  But she left my hand,  To fight alone, with a ring of eternal lines.  And her people, who betrayed her say "this is not love&quo