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.
I refuse to follow you. I refuse to borrow your words, your ideas, your beliefs. Limiting preachings of fragmented minds. I refuse to follow you. I refuse to adopt your meanings, interpretations, definitions. Confining parameters, conditioning. I refuse to follow
I spent a lifetime Trying to be different How can I complain then, That I don’t fit in? Who is this? Why has he trapped me? Illuminated confines of ability. Decorative boundaries of relation. Soft prison cells, comfortably. If it
There was a man, Old, cold, sold, To his condition. Stood outside the temple, Waiting, hating, hesitating. And people passed by, Dinging, dangling, giggling. Nobody could see him there, Lazy, hazy, crazy. Now he is there no more, Sink, blink,
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
I hid there for the longest time Behind the pillar, across the hall Underneath that absurd painting The meaning of which I am yet to figure out. I will know what it means someday And that day ain’t far away
A raven tide silver moonlight scattered. warm waves cover me like a blanket. a curtain of clouds waiting to be lifted. waiting for the show to begin. the ocean calls out in soft whispers. a sound no one can hear
Have you ever been on the brink of madness, one step away from losing your mind? Have you ever been so close to chaos, things that made sense got left behind? Don’t look up to him for answers. question the
Nothing more to do or see I’ve seen it all The sudden rise The tragic fall… A better life Supposedly awaits. Why not end this then? An honorable goodbye Rather than a bland farewell. Let’s celebrate one last time Bring
A songbird sings a melancholy song Deep within a forest, dense. No one could hear it, No one around and hence, The songbird he wondered, What he was doing wrong, Should he sing it louder? Should he change the song?
Mosquito jazz! Begun, it has. Would you pass on please, the frightening disease. Apologies given as favors. Edible insects in delicious flavors. Counting sheep, they are black as coal. Counting crows, they are white as snow. Let’s make a fortune;