Visual Verse #1

Bangalore, India. 

The deep earth colored tree trunk
Encroached upon the sky 
Against the subtle blue 
Fierce, so fierce that the warm 
Lighter shade of orange light 
From thousands of miles away
Struggled to seep through. 


The little green elves
Lay blissfully here and there
Few infinitesimally small, few tiny
Few turning green yellow
Few a crisp brown 
And few others
Racing against the January wind. 


Amidst the disorder
Shades of objects formed in the mind
Amidst the contrast of the green and brown
Orange seeped through
Amidst being immobile
The nature expresses
Unlike our unexpressed thoughts. 


Reality is the color, you may ask
Why then blank & white?
Reality is the art, I ask
Why not express the thumped down thoughts?
Reality is a short time,
Express while you can. 
For to express is to viral smiles. 


When the nature around us, expresses so much even after being immobile, why do we dwell, ponder, manipulate, cringe, draft pros and cons and remain shut? 

Express how adorable the little girl's smile is, express how freshening the coffee at the Cafe is, express how beautiful the sunset is, express how you feel about whatever finds its way to you in the grotesque universe that expands much, much beyond our imagination. 

Much love. 

29th January 2016
©Deekshita Srinivas 

Drowned; to life.

The heart craved to travel. The heart convinced reality that it was most required. And evidently, the heart and reality were in sync. And so, the journey to the City of Sculptures began.

Volumes of sun dried sand, in humongous amounts lay blissfully, detached from its next particle, independent, graceful and unique, unmisted by the rest. The sky proud with its striking blue wavelength spread high above like a blanket with deep contrasts and light music. The rocks, brushed by the waves for years together, softened, cut-off, bruised, kissed and ever persisting. Each calling out to narrate a story, that lay safe in its cracks and crevices, reaching out to scream the story, silenced by ignorance, craving to be smiled at.
Did the rocks never leave the shore? Do the rocks never get to see the other side of the sea? Do they miss parts of them being washed away by the waves?

Do they smile now, knowing there is someone cherishing about them? Do they smile now, knowing their silence has etched a beautiful mystery? The waves hit them again. Stronger this time. Splashing against in wonder.

The waves do call upon each soul. The waves do know how to get their attention. The spine-chilling water of the sea and the warmth of the sun, were in constant struggle to nullify one another. Meanwhile, happiness crept into me. The sand deep below water, helping me walk, for swimming was yet another story, the leaps and bounds in the sand below, the uncertainty of the depth, the euphoria of the waves brushing into the soul, the sea that extended farther than the range of human vision, the sun shining against my hair, the waves embracing, as though I am magically precious. A wave. A wave. A wave. And yet another wave.
Now, there is no sun, no rock, no wave. Just water. The surface with some timid light. The human body can not take this water. I rise up, to see the proud sky again. No, not happening, the water grins. Water again. Breathlessness again. Apparently, dragged out of it. Dragged out to the bright bold blue sky. Dragged out to the rocks that want to narrate. Dragged out to the sky that likes golden-lining the hair. Dragged out to a surreal moment that elapsed quick.

One among the many experiences that I wished to be endowed with had just taken place. How beautiful was it amidst the terror of it all. How one could demarcate the moments as something dangerous or something overwhelmingly beautiful. Beautiful like the sun slowly rising perfectly positioned between two mountains, two birds taking off for the day; like the typical landscape we all grew up sketching.

Drowned.
To life.
Positively. :)


 © Deekshita Srinivas
19th January 2016

Of ardent words and musing!

It is the first day of the year. The first day of yet another journey around the Sun. 
The whole of life is a travel, isn't it? 
Our travel around the sun, accompanied by a plethora of creatures, moments, goals and all that we could come with. 
Rambling already? 
Yes, I need to travel, yet again. However, let's get back to where I intended to take you. :)

Sabr(सब्र)  has been haunting me for quite sometime now. 
Not the duration in waiting for something, but, the word in itself. The word that appears to have such subtle grace and yet strikingly vigorous. It stirs what was forgotten, buried and evaporated. It stirs poetic pain and portrays how alluring comfortable it is. It leaves you in a longing to embrace it.  

As though, it knew all that happened
As though, it knows all that will happen
As though, it assures you to go on
As though, it were the solution
Sabr. 

What were the people who invented languages thinking of? What led to these ever-so untranslatable words? What was literature before it existed? What is the source of all this? What did sabr mean to the one who invented it? What did he/she feel when he/she uttered it for the first time? Did they know, millions of years later, there would be somebody being so intrigued by it? Did they know it back then, and have a hearty laughter? How beautifully torturous can a word get? How many answers can it hide? Why does it not have a equally intense replacement? 

As I question and glance at the word, yet again, it smiles back at me and says, "Sabr.." 

Probably they knew. Probably they knew this would happen. Probably, they gave their own sweet time to Sabr and let it haunt me with its flair. Let it haunt me so much that I had to put it into words. So much that, it smiles at me, at how a person who loves mystery and an element of surprise is left with a catalog of questions. 

The January wind elapses through the window, tickling the wind chime; yielding a calm music. The evening sun kisses the tree trunk, ornamenting the green of the leaves. The sky calls out, to let me narrate yet another story. And yet,


Sabr.. 
Sabr wins the day hands down. 
Effortlessly craving to be loved vehemently. 


©Deekshita Srinivas
  1st January 2016.