Sewn - (One Day II)

"Slowly opening up,

very slowly."

It fell apart

as she guessed the climax very early

In front of her

nothing could stay stitched.

A purple petal flew her way

she knew of which tree it came

A purple dot in her mother's dress

she knew why she wore it today

At the sky she would look

and predict the rains

Tears she would touch

and know the stories behind them

It was another evening

when she was going her way

A thief came to her

she gave him a cake

A squirrel came to her

she gave it a date

A man came to her

she said a story

A monster came to her

she offered herself

These met - the squirrel, the monster, the thief and the man

they discussed their disappointments

The thief took the girl

Th monster - the date

The man took the cake

and the squirrel listened carefully to the tale.

Shringi

August 26, 2011

Back ache

When everything is beautiful, my back aches. Left over nuances collect themselves in a corner trying to leave me alone with my happiness. This affects me in a different way.

Rain pours

thunders wait

noises run

and I alone get drenched

I have been trying to talk sense since a few days and all I am speaking is of wet and soggy feelings which nobody can be interested in.

Wheels churn

paths become older

we ponder

we never unite, we can never unite

If I sit in the corner of an old street

I count windows

I look into people's lives

I never reach a conclusion

then I look into my life and find it no more amusing than any. Red bricks falling off an inconclusive building. Red bricks ready to be taken by someone else for their dream. You don't need to be young to be dreamy, you just need to be ready.

Then she ran crazily towards the winds,

with the enthusiasm of a fool,

the sky stood silent in anticipation,

the sky said nothing when she reached.

Shringi

25 August 2011

The book and I

It was an hour and more past midnight and I was reading my book. I was weaving myself with all that was written, and all that I was reading was passing through me. I was in a tiny world which was full of the characters I was reading of and some of me in each of them, men, women and children.

Then, I looked at this from the outside. I saw a girl/ a woman with a book half read in her hand. She was sitting with her legs pulled close to her chest in a dim lit - light yellow room, very big for her. The floor was of white marble. She looked distant, pretty, aloof, content and very tiny. I moved further outside and lost her somewhere on my way.

From outside the words of the book were nothing but some filling of a decorative in my hand, from close by it was a world of which I was but a visitor, an engrossed visitor.

Shringi

26 August 2011

reading To the Lighthouse

Shouldn't ask

There are times when we shouldn't look back and shouldn't ask.

Of one of those times.

I must be little, but I was observant. You don't know when you grow up, but you do know (should know) if you still haven't. I am a man of 40 and like many of us I have had more than one real incident in my life, each of which are special to me. Each happened when I needed to grow, not sure that I did.

Judgments fail us, they fail us more than our real failures. People fail us, in a way we can never judge.

I should not think so much of how I have lived, but I do. As a child I was observant, now all I am is contemplative. Like a white feather travelling in the sky with a silent, almost hidden hope of flight, of some real happening. I am not even white, I am gray. Do I sound unhappy? I am asking you because my thoughts don't reach my ears; my ears are dedicated since years to music and words. Music of the countries and words of unknown philosophers (all men). My eyes in search of that blue sea whose color only my heart knows. I might find it and I might sit next to it, I might be satisfied or I might spend hours finding why this isn't exactly the color I was looking for and how is it different?

Man is curious to know and is scared of finding.

Life showed a way and I followed, like a boat and a river we moved. On our way we found unknown flowers in states of happiness, full blossom, death and loneliness. I liked to touch these flowers and know their smell. I liked to hold stems of these in my hands and caress them till they would fly. I liked to sing to them and hear them singing but I could never muster the courage of plucking any of these. They were beautiful where they were and I thought I would be unsatisfied with or without them. Life loaded a few known flowers on my boat, I carried them like an obedient servant. In the time we were together, I couldn't help the sadness or touch the happiness of these flowers.

Age is no milestone, it is no achievement. It is just a reminder of the fact that you are yet another human being surfing the waves of time.

I have made no contributions yet. I don't think that any of the inventions made, literature written or art created were necessary. I would have lived without these and so would you. Incapability sprouts its own philosophies. I have seen my mother grow from young and vibrant to old and wishful. I have seen her do the same that she always did for years and I have seen her holding tight to her rituals. As though if for a day she would not water the plants at 10 a.m. in the morning the plants would complain of disturbing their routine. The trees that I climbed when I was little, still are the same. The barks of these always looked wise, the only difference is that I don't seek their shelter anymore, I think that I am providing them with shelter.

We have been betrayed by ourselves countless number of times, so many that we are now not scared of any superficiality.

I am not a man who would be by your side when you would want me the most or expect me the most. I am not a man who would fulfill your emotional requirements. Of both of us, I would always be the baby. I am the man who would never love you more than what I do today, and I am the man who would never know what is needed. But I refuse to look back and realise why you are important; I refuse to ask myself any questions that would confuse me and make me feel uncomfortably right. I don't want to force improvements, I don't want to hide my present in the shadows of yesterday and demands of tomorrow. If you understand this, you would like to stay.

Shringi

August 24, 2011