I received a rejected letter from a literary journal a day after I turned 34. If my work were to get published, then this would be one of the loveliest birthday gifts from the publishing world. Frankly speaking, I don’t mind rejection letters. I’ve gotten them so much that I can make collage on the wall. It’s part of growing up as a writer. It helps me (the writers) to grow-up and mature before we are accepted by one of the top-five publishing houses.
Now, the editor commented the lack in its ‘form, structure and plot’. And she’s willing to help me to polish it up, so that I’m ‘always welcome to re-submit’ to the journal again. Fine. I did as she told. It’s approaching a week or so, and I have yet to hear from her.
‘When there’s a will, there’s a way.’
Right. ‘That’ isn’t the only journal that’s available in this world. I can never blocking the door, idly standing there. I have to move on, not that I still have my legs that functioning, but I’m not going to waste anymore time. I’ve already submitted it to another literary mag, and had other alternative online journals in mind, as well.
Somehow, the feminism theory that I’d studied in the Jurisprudence class has kept me going ’til this day.
You’re asleep beside me
Taking down the memory lane
for all we have walked
Bittersweet symphonies –
and sugar-coated lies
I vote for the best day
to come, by all means
take me where ever you desire
Once I am yours, the idiom with
The sound of cymbals in sweet slavery
‘If you marry the chicken or dog,
follow and bear no question.’
My so-called life of beautiful deceit
Not answerable to any soul –
How sweet it is to be loved by you?
Camomile for tranquillity
I’m one of the mass-produce androids
Partake to decode the deadly numerals on my wrist
Seated at your right hand, loquaciously
Redolence all that we’ve been
Bowls of blue in psychokinesis
Slots of melancholia in mélange
Wrapped in shantung
Shameless and yet triumphantly
Rainy October night
Here without you, but
I am safe in my own skin
Protected by a four-squared blanket
The one maternal grandma made (stitched)
of polyester fabrics, rainbow colours; loose and agile
I sleep with the lights OFF
Darkness is consuming, slithering IN
Not afraid, never EVER be frightened
Mental faculty of subhuman
Detour – gone were the days that
I only embraced fear and quivering –
Some matters has overtook my life
Hope is what tomorrow brings
Like a red-blooded woman I’ve become one.
She was made to lie down
A thin ragged man with crooked mouth came to her
Legs spread, cold slippery object enters her
The man sinisterly pats her head.
A carmine silk cloth covers her
Head hangs low. Don’t look upward!
Footsteps getting closer.
The scent of a man –
Caressing her face.
Darkness still wraps around her
Fairly sedated –
His lips confess a linger
Hands and fingertips like hungry beast
Cheek to cheek
Breasts hardened –
Before them seated her in-law,
Presenting a white cloth of tainted patch
Red liquids represent her chastity
Caused by his deflowering act
A harem that housed gazillion concubines
Complicated relationships and
An institution to polish a woman’s scorn!
To catch a fish in the air
Think about it until the cow comes home
This girl knows no limit in stupefy dream.
She is invited to the Harem
Cultural shocked to see the rest
Girls; young and old
Boys; very few but effeminate
A man and woman
Dressed in black cloak
Castrate the males to be eunuchs
Short-listing those females –
She is a ripe peach
To the dark,
Dark chamber she was sent
Huge as her living hall
We meet again on 29th September,
I squeeze through the sea of chamber,
Someone’s behind is a pusher,
I fall to your feet, such improper,
You stopped, hands out but the bodyguard take you away
As I was up to my stand,
You look on
Brushing stare, you saw me,
Reality and virtually, deep within
You’re real but what about your feelings?
– – –
Previous posts are as follows: –
1) The Unknown
2) The Unknown (II)
3) The Unknown (III)