Tag: poetess

Mahārājñī

Téa NicolaeLeave a comment

She who shines like golden dew
She who is robed in silks of ruby
and adorned with gems of splendour
She who abides in the oblatory fire
and wears rising suns as earrings
She whose tender face is of flowers
and whose eyes are the triad of time,
i take refuge at her feet.

aureate enchantress of desire,
melt the greed nestled in the pools of my heart
make it so i do not again defile the fruit of your womb that is existence itself
and bless me to tread gently in this life
to walk in harmony with your children,
enamoured with the highest truth that is You. ✨

♥️ from an in-the-works poem of mine entitled “Mahārājñī”, written on the last day of retreat with my beloved saṅgha & teacher, which culminated with an all-day intensive open to the public consisting of the exquisite Siri Jyoti Pūjā, designed by our Kavithaji’s paramā-guru – Śrī Amritananda Natha Saraswati of Devipuram. the pūjā has been the most beauty my eyes have ever beheld at once.

📸: my first time wearing a saree with the occasion of the pūjā, which i believe to be the most beautiful garment ever created. ♥️ /  adulating the Śrī-cakra, photo credit – @sabda_institute.

deeply touched, in awe & grateful. śrī mātre namah 🙏 

loss slithered inside me

Téa NicolaeLeave a comment

like a snake,

slicing my bones

and scratching my veins

with its scales.

my loss

burnt my fingertips

and dug a hole

in the centre of my chest.

i tried to feed the hole

kindness, drugs, and love

but my loss swallowed it all

and hungrily pushed against my ribs.

when i’m quiet

i can hear the hole

swelling under my heart,

greedily.

*poem featured in Wretched City. from my poetry collection “my loss is my root”, written in 2019.

picture credit: unsplash.

letters, cuts

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*scattered poems published in scan lancaster, february 2020. they belong to a collection of poetry i compiled which chronicles the various stages of coping with grief. written a few years ago…

01. 01. 2018

dear A,

it’s been three years since i’ve lost you

and i swear i am trying.

i bought a shiny yoga mat

and i do yin yoga for grief release.

i ground my feet,

do warrior poses

and chant.

i try,

but no matter how much i contort my body at dawn

my sorrow rips through my brain

and sticks to my eyelids.

10. 02. 2018

most beloved A,

i wear my loss

like i wear my rings.

11. 02. 2018

darling A,

i swear i’m trying.

i’ve stopped reading sylvia plath

and i bookmark poems

about the universe that is supposedly unfolding in my core.

i read self-help articles about how pain is grace,

grinding my teeth.

i write inspirational quotes on purple notebooks

and i make bullet-points about buddhism

with pink pens.

i press the tips onto the paper

hard

as if to push what i write through me.

i beg my mind to meditate

i put on compilations of “deep relaxing & healing music with instant relief from stress”

and i force myself to still.

i download apps that ease anxiety

and i go to meditation groups on wednesdays.

but, no matter how long i stay cross-legged on the floor,

straightening my back and linking my thumbs,

it hurts.

25. 02. 2018

my dearest A,

i quit drinking

and i made new friends.

friends that drink hot chocolate

friends that watch soft films

friends that pray in the evenings

instead of drowning in face paint

and sprawling on dance floors.

they meet for coffee

they talk about how simple life is

and i nod when my heart clenches.

30. 02. 2018

beloved A,

my brain is softly melting to the floor

04. 03. 2018

ever dearest A,

i’ve been reading about the cycle of rebirth

i wish to believe in it,

but scepticism clouds my heart.

i’m not pure enough for transcendence

so if i am reborn

i wish i could be as small

as a sparrow.

11. 04. 2019

dear A,

i’m unsure where loss ends

        and i begin.

                                                                                                                                  with longing,

                                                                                                                                  T. ☼

gasping for air in my bell jar,

Téa NicolaeLeave a comment

i long for closure and i crave familiarity,

melded thoughts and warm hands.

i am desperate to connect.

i want to feel someone’s soul

glued to mine.

i dream of intimacy,

but i’m clumsy:

when people embrace me too tightly,

i hiss like a cornered snake.

i’m wary of being alone, but

i drift away during conversations,

i ignore messages,

i break friendships,

i feign smiles.

i find refuge

in my bell jar.

every night

i close the jar’s lid with shaky hands,

hug my knees

and blow air on the glass.

*poem published in scan lancaster, february 2020, in the column ‘four incantations for loss, joy and love’. i wrote it two years ago, as part of my second-year poetry collection ‘teenage angst’. i aimed to emulate the restlessness i felt as a young, teenage girl. i feel so touched reading it! wish i could hug that olden version of myself.

Litehouse: “Interview with exophonic writer Téa Nicolae”

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so thrilled to have been interviewed by Litehouse!! you can find my interview below. 🙂

A few details about yourself.

My name is Téa Nicolae. I am a Romanian poetess and a scholar, and I have been living in the UK for four years. I have a Bachelor of Arts in Film and Creative Writing from Lancaster University, where I am currently completing my Master’s of Arts. I am highly interested in non-dual philosophy and in Goddess-worshipping spiritual traditions, which I explore in my writings. My work has been published in various magazines and online platforms, such as The Writing Disorder, Skye Magazine and Cake Magazine. I was shortlisted for the Lancashire Literary Award in 2018.

What does being an exophonic writer mean to you?

To me, being an exophonic writer means that this grand, beautifully interwoven and formidable world is my home. I am not bound to any place and I can make my home in those around me. Moreover, writing in English gifted me the courage to shed olden ideas about who I thought I was, and it gifted me the space to meet unknown parts of myself in wondrous ways.

What do you write? What is your writing process like?

At present, I write devotional and Occult poetry. My writing process is quite simple: I keep an open heart and I allow myself to be inspired by how life unfolds around me. I write down ideas in my Notes app on my phone and early in the mornings I bind them together. Then, the endless process of revisiting and editing occurs! In the past, I worked on an intimate lyrical collection which chronicled my depression, and my process resumed to pouring my grief into words until I felt soothed. And, of course, incessant editing!

What’s the last book that made you cry?

The last book that made me cry was ‘Ecstatic Poems’, a collection of poetry written by Mīrābāī, an enchanting poetess and Hindu mystic who lived a few centuries ago. I am in love with her! She was a devotee of Krishna and she spent her life in unbridled devotion, writing poetry to him and dancing for him in temples. This was scandalous for her time, and people tried to have her killed repeatedly – with no result! Her poetry is intimate, raw and filled with longing.

“As a lotus lives in its water, I am rooted in you.

Like the bird that gazes all night at the passing moon,

I have blinded myself in giving my eyes to your beauty.”

So blissful!

What advice would you give to other exophonic writers?

Be brave, keep your heart soft and your mind open, and read, read, read! And write, write, write!

my loss is my root by Téa Nicolae

Téa NicolaeLeave a comment

*poem published in Litehouse.

my loss is my root when my legs are wobbly.
it keeps me level-headed, grounded, with my feet turned inward.
my loss is motherly. it keeps me nurtured, well fed, full.
my loss is nourishing, it wets my lips when my mouth is dry.

on good days,
i like to think that my loss blossoms in my core
and drops through my feet to the moist soil
it falls to the centre of the earth,
through tangled grass and layers of rock
it feeds on flower stems, leaves, and seeds
and absorbs the warmth of mother earth.

when it skyrockets back to me, it throbs with energy
it heals my body and patches the open wounds in my brain.

on good days,
i imagine my loss sprinkling the ground like rain.
it wets my fingers, and when i cry,
the soil thrives.

my loss is my root, audio-poem Download

(on the night the witch was born) or (solaris) by Téa Nicolae

Téa NicolaeLeave a comment

on the night the witch was born

her grandmother oiled her infant body

with poppy’s milk. as the concoction gently swirled

into the blood pouring from her mother’s womb,                           

her grandmother adorned her bare head

with flower garlands and carried her

into the woods. toes dug in damp Earth,

sacred chants glued to her lips,

the elderly witch drew in the Moon                           

and lifted the child to the Heavens.                   

the Divine Enchantress descended

before them, bracelets around Her ankles,

silkily playing her flute. She licked

Her index finger and placed it between

the new-born’s eyebrows, breathing

magick and abundance through her core.

with tender fingers,

the Enchantress weaved the web of her life,

as the maiden, the mother,

the matriarch and the crone

tangled themselves in her eyes.

the Moon, waxing and waning,

poured light on the crest of her head

and the Divine Enchantress sowed her heart

                                             with golden thread.

*poem published in volume XI of Skye Magazine. to me, it holds two titles: ‘on the night the witch was born’ and ‘solaris’.

🌙

i adore this poem poem & the illustration that accompanies it! it opened my final year collection of my undergraduate degree – an occult lyrical project entiteld ‘Hymns ot the Divine Enchantress’, which was centred on illuminating the female esoteric experience. it is so moving to me to finally see it in print! thank you so much, Skye Magazine!

Skye’s beautiful illustration:

and the poem’s original moon format.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

xanax, side effects

Téa NicolaeLeave a comment

*poem published in L. C. three years ago. it feels like a glimpse into another life…

when i was on xanax

my brain curled into itself

and

everything was numb

and nothing hurt.

my therapist had prescribed three doses of 0.25mg per day to me.

each morning

i would swallow a first dose

conscientiously

at 8:54

and i would carry off with my morning routine, while mentally rewinding the side effects.

forgetfulness

i roll in my sheets, patting the mattress, searching for my phone

trembling

i double-press snooze

changes in patterns

i fall on my back in bed, bringing my knees to my chest

clumsiness and unsteadiness

i doze off

drowsiness

i jerk as the alarm goes off

feeling sad and empty

snooze snooze snooze

shakiness, an unsteady walk

i rub my eyes. there’s a small ache in the back of my head. feels like it’s melting my thoughts apart.

slurred speech

i jump as the alarm rings for the third time.

(less common side effects)

loss of self-control

i search for a pair of panties to match my mood. grey

loss of coordination

i pull a shirt over my head

loss of memory

i flatten the wrinkles with my hands

loss of voice

i apply foundation unevenly

muscle stiffness

i press my nose to my mirror. i stare at my glazed eyes as i swallow my first dose.

i got off xanax because

while my insides didn’t clench anymore

my eyes could still see

the hurt.

brief sonnet to sorrow by téa nicolae

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I

am

digesting

my

loss

as

life

dances

on

the

tip

of

my

tongue

* original format:

* happy december, my loves! as 2020 is slowly coming to end, i am bringing back this poem which was published on The Writing Disorder in summer, as i believe that it encapsulates my year beautifully; fully.

kiss me i’m peaking

Téa NicolaeLeave a comment

*poem published in The Writing Disorder. ✨

kiss me
i’m peaking

you murmur
lips pressed
against
my
forehead
i look up
to you
your eyeballs
are shaking
your hair
is
damp
and
you look
so
beautiful
i feel
my eyes
rolling to
the back
of
my head
as i crash
my mouth
to yours
my hands
fall
on your
chest
and
i feel
your warmth
slip
through
my skin
wrapping
my heart
your hands
rest on
my waist
your beard
scratches
my ear
and i feel
tangled
with you
my mouth
is
dry
and
the
music
is
tearing
my
chest
open
i
feel
dizzy
i bring
your
hands
to
my
heart
do
you
feel this

your voice
is hoarse
you
are
holding
my
youth
between
your
fingertips
i nod

is it
love

i
don’t
know
but
i
feel
so
close
to you
right
now