Poems by Sheila Thadani
By Sheila Thadani
Shadows shroud the hall,
where the wood dweller cowers.
Like the forest floor, a sludge
of brown and red strewn
around. In the darkness,
cords light up slender strands
of grey shaggy fleece.
A windowless room, an eerie
silence, broken with the painful
squeals of the captive.
His head chained to steel
bars; fingers bound
in shackles. Like the wilted
veins of leaves, nerves dead
to life; legs hang like lifeless
vines, without feeling or touch.
Day after day, lightning bolt
strikes through the flesh
and bone like a violent storm.
Agony quakes and shakes.
To flee the pain, he drifts
back to the time when he
freely roamed the woods;
he clambered trees, ate nuts,
and played with comrades.
He saw humans in the forests,
he thought were friends.
Instead, they are his captors,
assigning him to a life
worse than death.
“Hollow Trophy”
By Sheila Thadani
Deep in the jungle,
lush feather ferns stretch
out to touch, elephants
reach out to befriend.
But in the tangled groves,
a cruel silence reigns.
Mangled bodies
lie in the wet bloody swamp.
Carved in blood and pain,
the white ivory
reflects its shiny beads
of pearl that adorn her neck.
Dressed in a furry cape,
she cavorts around;
draped in the yellow black
stripes of a dead tiger.
Hidden in the bushes,
an inert body lies, shot
and hauled away, a rich
man’s trophy on display.
Devoid of life, an eerie
still now drapes the forest.
The silent witness of lonely
trees in the barren wilderness.
“Stripping the Bones”
By Sheila Thadani
The dungeon, the darkness;
eyes of death
shine through the rails.
Matted hair of grey
allay the dark shadows.
A clumped and listless mass
with vacant stares
through prison bars;
an eerie absence of barks,
the hushed gloom.
The silence of despair,
the putrid stench,
the smell of fear
permeates the cell;
a short quiet reigns
when time stands still.
Suddenly, the sound:
iron bars pound
innocent heads
with violent force;
pliers of evil
squeeze the throat;
a sharp slit to the neck.
Agony writhes and quakes,
a river of red flows
to the ground.
Time ticks, till life
and blood are gone.
The flesh carved
into pieces, a delicacy
of cruelty on the tongue
to taste the summer;
a festival that feasts
on brutality.
- Sheila Thadani is a writer and poet holding an M.A. She is an Eco poet whose work explores
climate grief, environmental justice, and human anxiety. Her poetry has been
featured in The Kelp Journal, Tiny Seed
Journal, Dissident Voice, WP Congress, Poetry Fest and others; the author of a column for Hi Rise Magazine,
her articles also appear on Substack. She has been awarded several prizes for
her poetry, including recognition for Moral
Abyss, Woven Fabric, Quest for Peace, Lost Spring of Love, Weeping Earth, and others.