Author Archives: pramilakhadun

About pramilakhadun

I am the holder of a Bsc degree in Food and Nutrition from S.N.D.T University,Pune,India.Have taught this subject in a private institution for almost thirty-five years.Currently, I am retired and travel alot with my husband Raj, daughters Dr Rajnee and Priyum and son Airline Captain.Had my first book of poetry published by Minerva press, London and other two in Mauritius.More coming soon.I love poetry and enjoy reading poems of poets across the world and I feel Destiny Poets is the right place for me.

The beaten, the battered and the butchered

Since ages, women have been considered as weaker sexes.

They have suffered discrimination both at home and at work.

Many have been beaten by their husbands, pitiless

Until they feel the pain in the heart.

It’s time to carry out a world-wide campaign to stop this

Mother Earth and women are loving sisters, alike.

Born and brought up in the same womb

Of creation where angels tread with no fear.

They are love unconditional, a unifying force impartial.

Promoters of sustainability, they work hand in hand for humanity.

There are women of passion, exuberance and coquetry

Who know which wine is the finest

And which cigar the choicest.

They talk of men and money, dating and betting,

Bathing and basking, travelling and shopping,

Sometimes without sense and sensibility.

Insensitive to pains of others,

Like wolves, they wail with desires

And changing partners is as easy

As changing coats apt for the season.

And there are women of devotion

Taking care of their homes with precision and perfection,

Plodding and struggling, braving the storms,

Silencing the flaming passions

For the kisses turned into kicks,

The hugs into hailstorms, confidence into chaos

And love in a series of whiplashes.

Nothing can be so debilitating, so demeaning

And demoralizing than being beaten and bashed

Under the roof of one’s own home by one’s husband

For whom love flows unadulterated.

Beaten, bruised, battered and butchered,

Such women find in their children

Rays of hope and happiness,

The iodized sea breeze, the lavender blossoms

That calm down the heavy and hurting pains.

They seek for no escape mechanism

For their heart-wrenching story

Though her problems are extreme enough

To be recognized as a rationale

For extreme protection, all befitting a novel.

she feels it in the bones,

Enough to make her system blow,

Yet, she frees herself from her mind

Allowing her eyes not to betray

The wounds and scars of her heart.

Drown in the sorrows of life,

She catches a few morale-boosting straws

And life becomes as challenging

As decoding a crop circle.

pramila khadun

Yet

Salma and Antonio

Salma had an unembellished beauty and softness,

Which radiated a striking personal confidence.

Her brown eyes spoke a language

As beautiful as Sappho’s poems on papyrus scroll.

She always had a sensuous and lingering smile

On her lips which many men died to kiss.

yet, she had never known a phenomenal kiss

For, though married, what mattered to her husband

Was a quick intercourse with neither love nor passion.

It was just an act of relief for him

And to her, there was no elegance in his romancw.

Nor did his love taste like vintage wine.

His body was with her

But her heart was elsewhere.

She thought of Antonio who would never know

How much she loved him,

Not because he is handsome, but because

He’ more herself than she was.

Whatever their souls are made of,

His and hers are the same

And her husband’s as different

As a moonbeam from lightning

Or frost from fire.

Antonio was an Afro-American business man

Who had a chain of hotels across the globe.

He was tall, statuesque with jet-black hair

And had a bourgeois approach to life.

Sexy girls had always splayed their thighs

Mesmerizing him with magnetism

Of physical forms of elegance

Where love was a mechanical game,

Heart vacant and feelings transient.

And when he met Salma, he realized

That they were made for each other.

Yet, he remained quiet and loved her silently

Leaving the rest in sweet destiny’s hands.

pramila khadun

Shakuntala

In a solitary corner of an unknown world,

Where every bush showed the season of love,

Shakuntala, queenly in looks watched the sun

Descending in yonder skies.

Soft silk draped loosely on her milk-white body,

Plaited hair unraveled, crowned with aromatic jasmine,

Her heart sobbed in painful sweetness, like the violin.

She was waiting for her lover

Who would come soon on horse.

The honeyed breeze blew gently

Among the trees stretching skywards.

It was the soft month of October

And the smell of peaches filled the air.

Her lover, knightly man of mettle and intelligence

Was the beginning of a wish for hr.

Nothing was more magical than the touch of his lips

And the comfort of his arms.

He was a hero.

The brave horse was flying through the shady woodlands.

Love with wonderful mastery

Had bedecked both in glorious colors.

Shakuntala’s heart was tossed up

And borne down in delight deep.

Her gracefully sculptured lips

Quivered with tenderness warm.

He came like lightning,

Clothing both in gold.

He held her tightly in his arms

And whispered softly in her ears,

”Once when I called you Shakuntala,

Were my eyes not the windows of the life-giving sun?”

Shakuntala could not reply, lost in his arms, she cried.

The peacock spread up its lovely tail

In ceremonious amazement.

Shakuntala blushed in virgin innocence

As her lover’s lips touched hers

With love and passion unparalleled.

pramila khadun

The end days

Where power corrupts, poetry cleanses,

Where medicine fails, prayer cures,

Where there is monumental destruction, nature restores,

And when man loses hope, God appears.

We are all clear-sightedly realistic,

Whatever be our faith, caste or creed.

We know that we are living in hard times

And a supernatural intervention is imminent.

Jesus had mentioned that all will not be saved.

Indeed, it has to be so for he knows best

How to differentiate the good from the bad.

He has said that two men will be in the field

And one may be taken and the other left behind

And the same applies everywhere, undoubtedly,

Whether urban or rural areas,

Rich or poor, black or white.

Aren’t we waiting for the rapturous moment

When CHRIST and KALKI will come,

A wonder to behold, igniting the power of prayer

In our hearts, in the hearts of the strong and the week,

Those undergoing cardio-pulmonary resuscitation,

Those running in battlefields in precipitation,

Those gathering grains from fields in contemplation

And those thinking of despairing times in lamentation.

There is still time to repent and turn over a new leaf,

Before it is too late to be the chosen ones.

We are living in the days of Noah

And many can be trapped unaware.

Let us be alert, alert of the least detail,

Of our ways of thinking and living.

Let us act now, let us repent.

Let us not be left behind

And hope within a dark deep grave is laid.

pramila khadun

And love shall tame that haughty soul

It was like a tidal wave that could not be stopped.

It kept rising and falling and with each surge,

Came sweet music of love,

Beautiful and yet, so painful,

Painfully beautiful and beautifully painful.

With lightning comes thunder

And from friendship emerges love.

To her, he was a wondrous work of art,

The altar of her temple

And she was drawn to him by love’s pulley.

Sigmund Freud spent his life proving

That we are ruled by unconscious desires

Beyond our control.

And this love for him drenched in passion

Was a desire beyond control.

He has an intrinsic sense

For what works out and what doesn’t.

He always has his points at his fingers’ ends.

Intellect of extraordinary power,

Incredibly conscious of the conflicts

And the compassions that chiseled

His supremely serene life.

However, deep inside floated his haughty soul.

Behind his mysterious smile,

Quite close to that of Mona Lisa.

That smile created wonders

Fascinating and mystifying, except love.

She realized that he needed some taming.

She made Earl Grey tea for him

And while he sipped, she sang songs sweet.

She applied balm to his wounds

And while he relaxed, she cooked his dinner.

She thought of Goathe who said that

Freedom and life are earned by those alone

Who conquer them each day anew.

As the days passed by, he started responding

And one fine Sunday while she massaged

His naked body with jasmine oil,

He drew her close to him and kissed her.

He dived deep in her and resurfaced

With gems of love coated with the honey of humility.

Love had finally tamed that haughty soul.

pramila khadun

Asleep but not oblivious

Leaving the bricks and the blocks

Of the dull and dense world,

He went to live with his son in the midst of nature,

Where the breeze whispers with a melodious moan

Songs sublime sung by ancient mariners.

He made a cottage in the deepening and widening

Green beauty of the valleys where strems enlarge

As they roll down between silent trees full of grace.

He is grave, masculine and strong

With buoyant blood running in his veins.

He cultivates flowers in solitude sweet

While waves of shadow, gently and smoothly

Kiss the sugarcane leaves and flowers

With the great passion of a lover.

Such a comprehensive soul he has

With beauty infinite and depth unrivalled,

Like the brightness of the vast plains and fields fallow.

As he sits by the bonfire, heart attuned to solitude,

He falls off to sleep, asleep but not oblivious

Of the sacredness of the times he had spent

With the queen of his heart who passed away

A decade ago leaving an eternal void in his soul.

pramila khadun

My last day on Planet Earth

My last day on earth

Heart broken and bruised, feet swollen with sores,

Hungry and thirsty, I have survived

And arrived at a certain destination

Which has filled my eyes with fascination.

Realization has dawned upon me

That planet earth is a school for all,

The king and the pauper, the black and the white,

The able and the disable and the young and the old.

God, teacher of all, with his modest kit of tools,

Uses not only the chalk and talk method

But live experiences as well for all learners.

If he wants to teach you swimming,

He simply throws you in the water

For he wants you to learn by yourself.

If he wants you to be a great man,

He makes use of his most powerful tool—poverty.

He wants you to go through all trials and tribulations

So that you climb higher and higher,

Shedding off pride, egotism, selfishness

And the greed for amassing more and more.

Our tragedies and maladies are all the fruits

Of our actions and reactions, our karmic deeds.

However, we have to accept all with the same heart,

Happen what may, we have to keep the serenity of Buddha.

Then only, we will have cleared our karmic debts

And be happy.

Our empty pitcher will be filled with water

Our pots with honey and our bags with grains.

Why worry about yesterday which is already dead

And about tomorrow which is not born yet.

Live for the moment, say the sages.

Be good, do good and give to the poor.

If you do not have anything to give,

Give a blessing with a smile

Which is worth all the riches of the world.

I say all this to you as a poet

Because it is my last day on planet earth.

Grieve not when I am gone

For, though gone, you will always remember me.

pramila khadun

In the open pastures of my heart

Pierre Poivre, world famous botanist created

The Botanical Garden of Pamplemousses

Where amongst a variety of plants

Imported from various parts of the world,

He planted the Talipot palm tree

Which flowers once in eighty years.

It is a flowering plant with

The largest inflorescence in the world.

It was a pleasant Sunday and leisurely

I was roaming in the lovely garden.

The sun rays traversed leaves wide and small

To heat up my lips cold and add life to it.

I walked in steps light towards the Talipot palm

Which was by the side of the rectangular pond

Where large lily leaves were floating like large plates

From which fifty people eat at a time, together,

Relishing the delicious food and most importantly

The company, giggling and gurgling.

I touched the soft bark of the Talipot,

It was warm and welcoming.

The fan-like leaves were swaying in the breeze.

I wanted to write something on the bark,

Not carving too deep, for fear of hurting it.

One day, when the Talipot will flower,

Lots of people, including tourists will rush

To admire the Taliot and their hearts will dance.

Many will see your name ans will wonder who wrote it.

Only the Talipot knows my secret

And with pristine clarity

Sees the million ways in which I have written

Your name in the open pastures of your heart.

pramila khadun

A world without time

It is believed that time and tide wait for no man.

The clock will keep ticking.

The sun will keep rising every morning

And set every evening, happen what may.

But tell me dear one, of what stuff is time made of?

Time tells everything, truth as well

Though some time may be taken to reveal it.

Time heals everything, especially the wounds,

Wounds inflicted to the body, mind and soul.

Time pacifies the heart when days are stormy

And surges break on the shores of the heart.

Time is the greatest of all teachers.

It may burn you out in front of your own eyes,

And yet, burnt and bruised, beaten and betrayed,

One emerges eventually clean and clear

Just like water cascading from the seven streams.

Another turn of the corner reveals another sublime scene.

Not many have understood the value of time.

To some, it is like valleys untouched by civilization

And to others a way of life and living.

However, to many time is an opportunity

To learn, unlearn and relearn

To make of one’s karmic path an example

For the rest of the world to follow.

A world without time would be chaotic.

All would be disorganized creating

Depression, confusion, annihilation and deception

.There is a time to work and there is a time to sleep,

There is a time to hurt

And there is a time to ask for forgiveness.

There is a time to hug and kiss

And a time to make love and soft bites.

Time is the master and we are just

Travelers of time and space.

pramila khadun.

The truth

No varnish can hide the grain of the wood

And not even seven layers of muslin

Can hide the suffering of the Ukranian heart.

They are weeping and yet waiting for a better tomorrow.

They only know the contours of their thoughts

That are traversing the blood-stained soil.

Some hard-edged and controversial leaders

Think that becoming a man of success

Is more important than being a man of value.

They want rose petals strewn on their path

While their people lead a stormy and wave-tossed life.

This is the pivotal moment for the wise

Wit rational thought and judgement

To dissipate all gloom and doom

For all those thriving in hard conditions and setting.

It is believed that where there is a wiil,

There is a way

And where there is peace and love,

Magic and miracles are effortlessly created.

Let us join hands and pray.

Let us walk the extra mile

That will unite all humanity.

Then only, new perspectives will become new horizons

And empty deserts will become

A lush paradise filling us all

With joy, love and peace.

This is the truth.

pramila khadun