soaked in the pleasure and pretense of art
submitting to it's arrogance
artist learns from art, the necessity of performance
argument
soaked in the pleasure and portrayal of art
submitting to it's humility
artist learns from art, the necessity of deliverance
Into.
Crawling by
faces that simper,
music of countries,
voices painted
in erratic stripes
by many and lonely
by those and known
in a box of voices
held by perspective
into, crawling by
Shringi
December 22, 2010
How will today be different from any other day if I come here, scribble a little poem on humanity/ structure of the world/ the us/ say a word or two that won’t make sense to many? Whatever I do, today is not going to be any different (even if I am crowned as the king). The purpose of this being is so little, I am amazed at how we magnify it, compartmentalise needs, shove in hatred, introduce excess love, boredom, wisdom, expectations, pressures, excitement, also the willingness. We do a lot to decorate our stay on earth as humans and are consciously never satisfied. Well, I do not disagree with we, mostly because I do not have an opinion to share. I will do what I can, write a small story.
There once was Ibrahim, who had a wife and a kid and another two kids. Ibrahim was adventurous and liked to taste the juices of the fruits of life. His kids were all of a kind and so was his wife, silent. Ibrahim with his family went out on an unplanned expedition; his family was silent enough to never ask any questions. There were deserts, oceans and hills in the journey. There were leopards, vultures and whales. Ibrahim collected small souvenirs from wherever they visited while his family followed him. Finally, he got tired and told everybody that they would go back home. Everybody agreed. They ate oranges, onions and dates. They wore wool, cotton and lace.
They reached home. Ibrahim had no friends so he decided to distribute the knick-knacks amongst his co- travelers. He gave each one of them five pieces but gave his wife an extra. The wife felt loved and smiled. All of them kept their gifts together in a wooden box above an old cabinet.
Ibrahim drank a lot of wine, smoked a lot of hookah, played many sports, danced a lot to Arabic tunes, wore a lot of grand clothes, looked seldom at his wife and died very young. The kids and the wife grieved together and later decided to revive memories by opening the now dusty wooden box. They were surprised to see 22 pieces of leather canvas with human like features on them. They put the pieces together like they would of a jigsaw puzzle and found Ibrahim's face painted on it (almost like real). The wife stitched the pieces together while the kids framed the canvas and hung it on the wall next to the old cabinet. They held hands, drank wine and danced in front of the artifact.
~ The End ~
The greed of fulfillment
bows to the celebration
As our souls resonate
in each other
You can't separate me
from yourself
We shall hold on
till we see the same shining
and let go
only when we cognize
we are how together
Shringi
December 04, 2010
The snow outside is demanding; such that I must write a few words in its praise
His puppets have fallen loose in the sky
Dressed like fairies
featuring silver highlights
To the euphonic liberty
Flakes of snow are swinging in delight
Shringi
December 02, 2010
Say a little nothing
and wait for me to beam
There are bouquets of whims
to be bought
There are silhouettes of our conjunction
to be sketched out
I need some time to decorate this interval
There shall be iridescence when you turn around
An ornamental lapse will make me understand
the story of your silent sound
Shringi
30 November 2010
A glimpse of MeeraBai's love for Krisna.
On my journey onwards
I met a colossal mango tree
With a tired body and searching eyes
I stopped to break from my ironic spree
The tree stood silent
as I shacked in its shelter
and closed my eyes, welcoming peace
I don't reckon when it pushed me into an ocean
that birthed void waves
that sparked blank reflections
I like to think that on my wet mud
the tree then shed a few seeds
my searching eyes soon were placid
my journey for some unsung reason
had abruptly found its degage end
I no more needed to travel with time
for time too was to be set free
This was when I built my home
Under a giant mango tree
Shringi
20 November 2010
Ek taraf
hai junglee hawa
aur doosri ore thehra aasmaan
insaan ki samajh ke pare hai
dharti ka kolahal
brahmand ka ekanta
jhanjhato me lipta aadmi
aur uske bheetar hi chipi uski ekagrata
mera kirdaar bhi hai isi jungle ka koi junglee janwar
magar - ek darshak
brahamand ki shanti ko dekh bhaybheet, ekantmay
aur dharti ke kalakriti mei ghira, anjaan
us sagar ka kewal ek boond
aur usi sagar ka daayra
mera kirdaar bhi har doosre ki tarah naraaz aur chanchal hai
vyom mei tairkar; kar raha hai vyom ki talaash
Shringi
12 Novemeber 2010
what is that?
a moth
here to sing
ever since I left a note with him
I have a new visitor in my room
bringing in a little, everyday
Can I possess?
the moth flies off
leaving the song midway
"to you, the body
to me, your smoke, ashes and the fumes - gray "
Shringi
30 October 2010
