Unperfection by Shreya Manna Teaching myself how to unperfection Reminds me of that time I tried to do A water slide and chickened out only To sheepishly return because The queue I spotted on the other side Was way too long. And I was hoping To return to earth sometime very soon. In the little pod, waiting for the ground […]
Beneath my feet are crunching leaves, martyrs to the world’s law, And above me the canopy, shaking leafy branches in a tribal dance, Like a million green eyelashes in the sky’s eyes Nobody is listening. The gnarled limbs of the trees spread to claim the sky Gather the sun like gold, loot, I look up to them Like greedy kings. Crouching in wonder at the feet of these tyrants, listen carefully to the sound of leaves whispering in the breeze, saying soft first words on earth. From the cold bed of the jungle floor tiny shoots peek through their wooden chambers with the sweetness of a child, peering from behind the curtains shy, curious, drawn to the colourful show. Onwards they grow, leaving the warm clasp of home – daring to absorb the sun and its boundless kingdom. Never complaining, the small pads of their leaves unfurl like miniature flags Never losing the hunger for light Soaking the small stripes and flecks that filter into its open palms. The seed does not question the silent Work of pushing feeble roots into the worn earth. Is it celebration? Is it tragedy, the merciless struggle for survival? The questions of a human, once again trying to believe that butterflies emerge from cocoons and great trees from humble seeds and once again remembering that life can go on. By Shreya Manna (c)
Sometimes I feel like a waterfall wrestling with gravity I am heavy and torrential and endlessly crashing against granite. Somehow I spill into the canals dug by words, Slowing, a stream, rolling along soft clay. What I see is a stream of consciousness moving forward. What I see is the endless play of elements as I sit on a cool, […]
After successfully negotiating AS Levels in French, English, History and Psychology, lo and behold, here comes the onslaught of Year 13. Homework, university applications, extra reading, an EPQ are just a few things on my never-ending to-do list for the moment. In following with Paradise Prose custom (thanks to schoolwork, this has happened before), the website is going to sleep for some time. Stay tuned for more posts in the near future – once I’ve somewhat emerged from this work flood! Keep reading and readjoicing, Shreya
‘Mirror’ appears like a relatively simple poem. However, in no way does it lack depth: narrated from the point of view of a personified mirror, we witness the coming and going of a woman who looks in and reacts bitterly to what she sees. What I found most stunning about this poem were the contrasts. We never know first-hand what […]
In the literary community, there seems to be quite a debate on whether Dorothea Brooke from George Eliot’s Middlemarch is a truly “satisfactory” character. Feminist critics such as Lee R. Edwards have pointed out that Dorothea succumbs to the conservative expectations of society, ultimately becoming no more than a mother and a wife. In some ways, Eliot seems to deny […]
So, this internship began with a strange mixture of feelings: excitement, because I was lucky enough to meet someone who could give me the opportunity to intern in one of the UAE’s largest media and publishing companies. Nervousness, because I still felt like a clueless teenager trying to walk around in shoes too big for my size. There is something dizzying […]
