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
Listen. Dance a barbaric dance. Let the tune of life flow through you. This isn't noise; delve in - it's freedom.
Reality is quite a ritual, which I am quite unaware of. This is why I delve into fantasy.
In one of my stories, this is how it goes –
Siroja is a teenager, older than many teenagers with the face of a child. She is well formed in structure and ill mannered in behavior. She has a strict mother and no father, or maybe an irrelevant father (does not affect the story). Siroja’s mother likes her only child but isn’t too possessive. She wouldn’t mind exchanging her with a smart dog to which she could be equally strict. Siroja’s mother sends Siroja to a nearby garden to collect fallen flowers (haunting, not yet for you; for me – coz I sort of know the ending). She goes to the garden as told by her mother but since she is notorious as stated above, she goes a little further towards a water body (to make it familiar), a lake (but its thinner than a lake and fatter than a stream).
Siroja sees women, clones of a single woman, gently leaving dead pumpkins (seemingly hollow) to flow in the water from the other side of the water body. She waits for the pumpkins to reach her side but most of them sink midway. So, none of these dead fruits successfully reach Siroja. The women (multiple of a single woman) don’t stop doing what they were doing in the first line of this paragraph. Curious Siroja waits to see the destiny of each pumpkin haplessly hoping to carry one home with the fallen flowers Siroja’s mother had sent her to collect. Days go by as the teenage girl with the child face waits by the lake to own a dead pumpkin while the scientifically generated women continue to do their job. Meanwhile her mother grieves and worries for a day and buys a smart dog on the next. Siroja survives on fruits from the garden and water to drink from the lake. As she is eating a healthy guava, a clone woman far from the point of action but closer to her being replaced by another clone woman catches her eye. She is surprised as she never noticed a single sister (she called them sisters in her head) ever leaving the side of the lake like water body, the lake. Siroja opens her mouth to call out for them when she realizes that her mouth is full of a good portion of masticated guava. She quickly swallows her food and manages to shout, “Sister, sister….. SISTER”. Siroja’s voice was quite like that of a teen-aged girl in her early teens. The women don’t seem to hear anything and continue like robots. The new woman starts walking towards the flock of clone women. Siroja’s eyes can’t follow her for long and nobody knows when she artfully joins her other sisters. Nobody, including me.
With the many passing days, pass by many nights. On one of these passing nights Siroja sits by the lake waiting for a pumpkin to reach her, waiting for the women to tire, waiting for anything to change other than the position of the earth around the sun. Suddenly, the water in the water body starts to churn vehemently, making violent unheard sounds. The sky turns green and smoke invades the atmosphere above the lake. Siroja watches her reflection grow and take the form of a giant Siroja. The sisters are crying now. Siroja can see that her eyes in the reflection are greener than the very green sky. Siroja’s water image is unperturbed by the turmoil of the water. Instead of being amazed she feels an inexpressible calm run along her entire body. Her reflection reaches the bottom of the water body and starts to collect the dead pumpkins in its mouth. Siroja can feel the taste of rotten fruit. The clones start jumping into the lake and transforming into dead pumpkins one after the other. The ill mannered giant in the water gluttonizes innumerable fruits before it satiates. The storm slowly dies leaving calm water, a clear blue sky, and a teen-aged girl with a child like face behind.
Siroja plucks a few fruits and collects fallen flowers from the garden on her way back home. She is greeted by a dog and thrashed by her mother. Siroja thinks of keeping her story a secret. She also decides to keep the fruits till they die rather than eating them. Days come and days pass by as each of the fruit slowly dies and turns into a dead pumpkin. Siroja asks her mother if she can go to the garden and collect some fallen flowers. Her mother looks at the dog, shrugs and agrees. Siroja with her child like face goes a little further from the garden to a lake like water body. She swims across the lake and starts leaving each of the dead pumpkins she has into the water. A clan of unrelated Siroja clones joins her and starts doing the same.
~.~ The End ~.~
Subtle, sweet yet smoky - the story begins
I rose my hand
when she asked,
"do you believe?"
I was the only one
she saw hope in.
My prism
became the gateway of her illusion
I was insane to make her superstition my screen
how could the smell of an unripe theory
be so intense?
almost like truth.
We knew it
both of us
verity was but an extension
of our imaginary believes.
Could we be more synchronized?
Probably
if by its end, I wouldn't cease to exist.
Shringi
no silence could reach the one you possessed.
A crack in time -
I trespass
you split open
your voice
- cacophony
spreading, unmaking your portrait.
Retreat into your cocoon
stitch that crack in time
and forever submit your truth
under shrouds of silence
I will pretend to have forgotten your din.
Shringi
10 October 2010
I trail in smoke
into a mortal's fog
where the melody is over
the tune, unfurnished
dying beats follow me
deep into myself
where I see no more than you can see in me
the murk
was always an alibi
for me to own a mystery
Shringi
09 October 2010
