A wretched little hut still stands. Stained windows, a cranky door. There was laughter in it once, but nobody lives here anymore. Broken down by the waves of time, Still putting up a bold front. Violence, loneliness, pain, people moved on, it took the brunt. Are you leaving behind a legacy?
Shaurya Singh refuses to call himself a poet, an artist, playwright, or a filmmaker although he writes poetry, paints, writes and directs plays and also makes short films. His work also includes working closely with and coaching people who want to take charge of their lives and create the life that they desire. His vision, he says is the creation of a community of people who will passionately build an alternative lifestyle based on emerging new-age principles. He is the co-founder of Saarthak Productions, a theatre group based in Bangalore. Some of his poetry and paintings are featured on the blog A Formless Formation.
Hours before the birth of the gem, There was an affectionate argument between them; Her father said, ”Watch my child change the state as a minister”, To which her mom quipped, ”No she’ll deliver unbiased justice as a barrister.” When
A black rose blossomed in the snow forlorn it stood freezing in bitter cold alone and pining for a loving touch.. love went to pluck it and take it home to adorn a crystal flower vase the sly thorn pricked
There is far too much evil in this long misused world, too much force-fed fear. Too many bent and broken lives adrift on a torrent of tears. Too many innocent children being brainwashed in too many crowded halls. Pointless graffiti
This dawn, the legacy of nights before, Breaks from horizons of the distant past, In land so faraway, on stranger shore, Now gone, but not mementos that still last; Find no memorials proudly hewn in stones, Nor citadels to champion