The Chase

I look abnormally at my footsteps

and see how close I am 

to where I begun

In miles, its many

in direction, its none

in revelation, its grand

in gain, nothing

I continue, to chase

hop choices, to find order

I pass

landscapes, stories, men, love, skies

I invariably find

an alluring destination

This is chase

it is better than ignorance

This is chase

much poor than harmony

Shringi

1 November 2012

Her Lapse

She went to the white forest,
and plucked red apples.
She went to the purple sea,
and sat on a yellow boat.
She went to a Berlin balcony,
from there, sent bubbles to the sky.
She went to a black garden,
and planted green roses.


She is now sitting in a blue cloud,
and spreading funny drops of dreams.
She is alone and a rainbow is falling on her.

Shringi
1 August, 2012

Holiday

On a holiday,
We eat together and we want the food to be good.
On a holiday,
We stare at neighbors and wish them a little less happiness
For, only we know how to celebrate, how to cook.


I have cooked a meal of potatoes
for my sons, daughters, their spouses and mates
I have spent hours on this
cooking and smelling the only dish I have prepared


We will be together, this holiday
and pray for a better fortune for the next
The very grand, we look at you, to shower on us
a new batch of healthy potatoes for the next
holiday.

Shringi
10 June 2012
Painting of 'The Potato Eaters' by Van Gogh

Peeled and Painted

I am here, to have my reality peeled
To look at my lover, dead
To
listen to his voice in the songs of the earth.

I am here, to paint my body in vibrant colors and look at the world as an enemy.

I am here, to find the rush known only by the wind

I wish I were a woman,
pouring thoughts in caves. Watching them fly from there into the reflecting sky.
I wish, to scratch the world, irritate it and fill into it's wounds, agony.

I am here, to shout, with the paint on my skin.

Shringi
9/6/2012
Painting of a hand by Picasso

In the world of Gauguin

Her brown body lay still on a bed of yellow petals. Her red mind lay still on waves of redundant events. Her long fingers lay still on her dry lips.

When the smoke was spreading evenly on burnt lands, I was filling a pot of water and looking maddeningly at the sky.


There is some dry color on these paint brushes. There is some dryness in the wind. There are some dry leaves spread on the doorway. There is some rain, falling on this dryness.

I have a destination in mind, but I am stuck in a group of riders. I have a destination in mind, but I am too lonely to decide. I have a destination in mind, distractions are beautiful. I have a destination in mind, my duties have one too.

I thought she was beautiful in her torn clothes; her dirty hands knew the earth, her stolid eyes knew the sky. She was stubborn, poor, full of intent and strikingly beautiful

Shringi
5/6/2012 
Paintings by Paul Gauguin
 

In an upturned world

Remember we are all together in this, and none of us know each other at all.

These rain drops falling on us, are people

We are one of them, falling on us

I am not getting drenched at all

Instead, I am shaking these drops off my clothes

I am dry, so I see are you.

White and black keep mingling

while I sit under a red shed

wondering when the rainfall would stop

As we climb up the hill

In an upturned world we are actually moving down

Panting, sweating, desperately trying to proceed

The hour glass we are falling through, us the grains of sand

(with another unit of time)

is bound to be turned around, when we will be filling, what we just emptied

or, emptying what we just filled

(together)

Remember we are all together in this, and none of us know each other at all.

Shringi

April 20, 2012

Brown eyes

They were brown, those eyes

old and thoughtless

stark, inviting and isolated

Under the eyelids, were stories

of huts, tulips, bees, fishes and trees

We met outside an ocean

just when the sun was rising

We went inside the water to be left alone

The water drifted us apart, away

All I remember of him, are his eyes

moving away, under the water of the ocean

brown, stark, inviting and isolated

Shringi

April 17, 2012

The Wheel

Let me paint you an illusion, home.

spin it around you as you travel, lonely

Let me carve you an illusion, hope

drop it on you as you search, continuously

There shan't be any curious individual

on my planet

There shan't be any hysterical idea

There shan't be any persuasion or argument

All there shall be is a slow paced wheel

crushing and moving, crushing and moving

Let me write you a letter of promises

Let me close your eyes, gently

Let me carve you an illusion, hope

drop it on you as you search, continuously

Shringi

April 08, 2012

Painting : The Wheel of Life by Sidpai Korlo

at http://www.flickr.com/photos/christinyca/3865972629/

Performer of Ablutions

They performed on the beats of the rain

as each drop cleansed them

ripped a little bit of their burden

freed a little bit of their sense

These drops of rain, asked them to dance in return

Once they were clean, it pushed them

under a bed of newly shed leaves

...

Now that they are snug, the leaves have started to wither

they will soon be exposed to the winds of dirt

ready for another drop of rain,

another performer's performance.

Shringi

April 04, 2012

In the well

Look into the well

look at you, look at you.

Can you see the sky so blue ?

Can you see the trees behind you ?

Look at you.

Drops of your dreams have mixed with my ink,

when I write, through it, flows a lot of you.

I jump into the well, look at you in

the well so blue.

I fill my pen with the water of this well,

the sheets are wet.

If I were swimming, these sheets wouldn't know

Fluids continue to mix, with your faces floating on it.

Look at you.

Shringi

April 04, 2012

Painting by Daniel

http://aemagination.blogspot.in/2011/04/painting-analysis-4-reflections.html

My lady Florita

To my dearest Florita

With your birthday, this day begins
and, there come
memories of ladies with hanging futures
in a wet backyard with coffee and smoke,
on which rain soon, again should fall

of cold clothes, and cold snow
of warm hearts and steaming food
of the road home,
where we shall meet and discuss liberty

Oh! my dear Florita
have a happy birthday
and live this day for a long long time
till the sun sets in your lap, comfortably

Yours,
Shringi

Good time

Behind chirps, spouts of laughter, giggles, words, restlessness.

Inside hatred, there is some gaiety, some valuable quest, some real spirit

on which acid spreads.

Bows bound around gifts, gifted along with roses, black

when unwrapped, reveal another redundant dream,

green apples roll down a clean old street; the street holds stories

These apples get wrapped in these, independently, to later become people,

who have something to say; they shall get eaten before they turn stale.

To the good times, let us offer some gratitude, let us wrap each other in felony,

to celebrate.

Shringi

17 February 2012

Low lying yesterday

There was no pleasure, yesterday, there were no melodies.

These are nights, that I am talking of, yellow inside and blue on the surface.

All the distance, is of a mask

which has no color but that borrowed from the night.

For always, there is a girl called Mela, who eats orange fruits and licks candies,

who waits for the rain to stop and then for the rain to come.

She does not look at herself in the mirror, but finds her reflections in pages of books

she never understands what the books say,

she gets confused between names of everything and men.

For always, Mela dies, yellow and blue.

YELLOW INSIDE AND BLUE ON THE SURFACE.

Shringi

17 Feburary, 2012

Lullaby

The mother says angrily, "sleep tight, sleep tight" and the two sons hug each other loosely.

A song saying, "Love shall die, but shall live tonight" is playing loudly under the pillow on which the two kids rest.

And they dream,

" A middle aged woman wearing a yellow face enters a dark room constantly blinking her eyes"

the dream ends.

The two kids whisper into each others ears, they say incomprehensible words and smile in the air. The song ends concluding, "If a woman can love, she can put dreams into your eyes."

The kids unwrap themselves from each other and dismiss the pillow. They look with thoughtful expressions at the ceiling concluding "If a woman can love, she can put dreams into your eyes."

3 hours past midnight, a yellow eyed girl of 3 comes in the room with a doll carefully held in her hands. She says, "Brothers, can my daughter sleep here tonight?"; the brothers gaze at the ceiling which to them now is the sky. The girl to her doll sings a lullaby,

"When the fairies see light

when the angels fall from the sky

my only

in her yellow blanket sleeps tight"

The girl of 3 repeats this thrice and then thrice again. The two brothers hug each other, throw the pillow at the girl and sleep tight.

Shringi

Feburary 08, 2012