Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Tragedy of Lady Macbeth ( untaught)

Macbeth danced to the beats of a fairytale when Lady Macbeth whispered what he always wanted to hear- he always wanted to win. Pink, yellow and red Roses, walk in the moonlit streets, his promising eyes, her melting heart, his breath filling her with warmth in the cold winter nights, the mindless chatter in the parking lots, the togetherness, the concern, the "sweet nothings"...all weaved a thousand dreams....n "nothing else mattered".

Then came the prediction of the witches...Macbeth has to win the battle of life. And the moon refused to light the streets, the roses lost its colour and sweetness, the chatters were heard no more, the dreams were all blurred. The Lady now walks alone..shivering in the cold...craving for Macbeth's arms which now embraces the crown. She wonders if predictions were only excuses as they were already known long before...Macbeth chose his own path...he is a born winner after all.

'Fairytale is a tale told by an idiot dreamer ..full of fake promises signifying "nothing".'


  1. very nice use of metaphors and similes

    life makes sure that you evolve into a poet,isnt it?

  2. I am yet to evolve in many ways .... Experience leads to the loss of innocence ...sumtimes its difficult to dcide wat is more important - to repent the loss or to accept the gain...i nevr likd dis part

  3. Lady macbeth is one of my favourite characters and am sure for all those who have experienced the phenomenon called Partho Mukherjee. The source of Macbeth's ambition and strength is ironically left weak and craving for love, "shiverring in the cold" as you say.what moves me most about this piece of writing is the line "she wonders if predictions were really excuses" and trust me it gave me goosebumps...come to think of it , its possible...looking forward to reading more of u :-)

  4. @ sri : Thanks for those observations ...its my own version of the story ...which I have tried to connect to Macbeth ( like sum1 said I dared to mess with a masterpiece ... its sheerly a matter of perception n the angle frm which u c life... this is completely personal ... My apologies to the great Playwright.