A Peep

And heavily, once,
he lifted his eyelids

The map in front of him
was in flames
So were his senses

He slept
in the lap of time
In his mind,
he undressed

Thirsty
for a glass of moonlight,
with his eyes closed
he asked me to look into him
I did.
He was overflowing with what he yearned

There was fervor
there was shine
there were bruises
and there was him.

Shringi
29 April, 2011

It is dark

Where there will be stars

In a forest of silhouettes,

A black owl sings a song,

every night

She cries when she finishes -

flies off her branch

The silhouettes stand still, silent

watch her go

The sky has surrendered to the night

together the sky, the owl and the silhouettes

look further

where there will be stars

24 April 2011

Shringi

Vibrancy

Come to my abyss,

fuse.

You are the sound

you are intently listening to.

Carve your mien

in my groove,

in my groove

delve.

These are cautiously pleated waves

of us, of you.

Shall we?

as we resonate.

Shringi

April 20, 2011

To the very vast

Shallow be the river I swim

Shallow be my direction

Of little depth be my mind

Of little depth its origination

I walk

to the only horizon I see

I swim

to the only island

I think would take me to it

My hair now touches the surface

of the sea,

my eyes are a constant spectator

of my own reflection.

Into the very deep

to the very vast

shallow - I proceed.

Shringi

19 April 2011

Currents

Cutting sharp through

lightless stones

of the only hill she knows

Cold

having memories

she runs quick

through paths unknown

Can you follow?

Can you stay, and watch?

Do you know what thoughts in real are like?

when they run wild,

when they are slow.

A small stream of water

running down a stolid hill

knowing less of her intention

;of currents - thoughts.

She carves a way of her own

and then another.

In wild excess

she happens to be one of us.

Shringi

19 April, 2011

Of times

In a faraway place

where the trees were yellow

I heard the story of a lonesome leaf

from a crooked brook

She talked of its worries

its longing

its fading colors

its days of distress

While I looked blankly at the brook

she never blinked

The story ended

Night fell in place

I took a step towards the lonely yellow leaf

The leaf turned red.

Shringi

April 18, 2011

To Ayn (updated)

You can call this the vision of a blind or of some person who no longer wonders to watch. Either she is scared, baffled or downright unfortunate.

Some 10 years ago I read the book Atlas Shrugged after being thoroughly intrigued by the philosophy of Ayn Rand in Fountain Head. Today it haunts me, I rate it as one of the worst novels that I have read. Although it beautifully explains the standing of the intelligent and the workings of this world, it ruthlessly kills the illogical in us. It is a slow and bitter poison for the James Taggarts who have yet to announce their titles. For a reader he is a perfect antagonist and it is befitting for those who read a book as a book. I do not want to talk about Ayn Rand, she invariably makes me feel like a burden.

I am going to step on a new road (a brand new one this time) in a few days and am scared of evaluation. I have fared poorly in life so far, in the blinded eyes of mine and in those of the very wise. Life, though a beauty is too long and with vague reasons seems much longer. Although not the most intellectual myself, I rate average people as average, very average and artists of any caliber as gems. These random statements have been clubbed together for no worthy reason.

I am no more a teenager, nor have I grown up enough. My past has been a consequence of consecutive bad decisions and what a fool I have been. I am not comfortable.

I want to ask Ayn, what happens to the useless and undeserving - of course they die and I know what you and she think of them. But I want to know more and in elaborate details. I have to make a plan. Thank you Ayn for a piece of literature that has reached greatest heights making you one amongst the characters you sketched. Thank you for telling me that I am but a reader of yours and yet another one of the many who desperately wanted to know "Who is John Galt?", pushing me into my grave a decade ago when I had more dreams.

Shringi

March 27, 2011

Thankfully not many read my blog. There are too many fans of you, Ayn Rand and I am too ‘unintelligent’ to counter their thoughts. When the world of literature had just seen Lord of The Rings, why Atlas Shrugged. I wish you could write something like that but unfortunately you had to tell us about the importance of the rare. I strongly feel I would have been a much more confident woman if your intellect never enslaved you.

I believe most of us are more of James than Daggini, isn't that the whole point? - Aren't Dagginis supposed to be handful? I fail to understand how could the book do so well, why would James (you and me ) like such a book when he has been ripped off in it. A theory could be that all the readers find themselves elite and feel to be Dagginis or Johns in their own rights which collides head on with Ayn's theory of rarity. It is a truth that Atlas Shrugged is one of the biggest hits ever easily pointing to the fact that a majority agrees to it. Either they agree to be hollow or they find themselves capable of shrugging the Atlas. If they do the later I must say Ayn has successfully made a fool of millions by giving them a false idea about their personalities. It is a beautiful book and has a philosophy which cannot be completely denied, but how many of us are capable of raising our hands when someone calls out for idiots. Do we have the maturity to accept our standards and be happy to be thrashed for being substandard? Can idiots applaud other's intelligence? If not then I congratulate this world and Ayn to have built a million who can raise the world from ashes.

P.S. Please excuse me for repeatedly using the same characters as examples, it has been quite a while that I read this book. I touch on it today as I feel trapped in misinterpretation. If we cannot shrug the Atlas ourselves, which I believe most of us have the humility to accept, then we expect someone around us to. I talk often about Atlas Shrugged for I feel cheated, I feel abused by the very intelligent, who now are in abundance.

March 29, 2011