The white, The blue, the shapeless, The True

When water weaves itself like sultry waves,

Nature, the seamstress, leaves no boundaries,

Like a perfect satin fabric slipping over a shapely hip,

It flows into oblivion of the sleeping sea,

With a hem, the eye cannot fathom.

Limitless water flows from under our feet,

Changes form here, becomes tangible there,

Ever indecisive , gives itself over to you.

Moonlight dances on ripples and twists on currents,

Paints the perfect picture of solitude.

Like a maiden sitting on a rock, with a satin gown,

And flowing hair like night,

Coalesces with nature and brings you home,

Open your heart, open your eyes,

let it course through you,

leave in its wake, a pure heart, a pure mind.

Subtilités de la conduite sociale

Yes, here I'm going to finely relate to you, the atrociously annoying rules of social conduct. No, don't scroll away just yet. I'm going to tell you what all you should avoid doing when among a large number of educated social individuals.
1. Do NOT look at your drink all the time.
   Or your shoes for that matter, or admire the fine lines on your fingers. It gives others the idea that you're       nervous or occupied or troubled, when you just simply don't give a fuck and all you're doing is mentally compiling the "101 ways for the other person to SHUT THE FUCK UP."
2. Don't sleep on the dinner table.
   Apparently its insulting to the cook (looks like the host is not at all concerned about your comfort). You could sleep with your eyes open or excuse yourself to the washroom and sleep there.
3. Don't comment about the wallpaint when the other person is talking. The person talking usually takes it to heart when you don't stare at their stupid faces and ooo and aahh from time to time(they think they're important to you if you do that. Poor little delusional people)
4. Don't EVER be sarcastic, funny or even REMOTELY logical. Yes, this is one of the most important points. Normal people do not appreciate interesting, humorous conversation. Just be plain and dry and VOILA!! you're a hit.
5. Last but not the least, Do NOT, in ANY circumstances, excuse yourself from the party(really, that's what people call a highly boring gathering of dim-witted, old, 'apparently sophisticated' people, who think drinking Bourbon on the rocks is THE coolest thing they can ever do). Just leave without being noticed, otherwise the host party shall coax you into spending another meaningless, hellish hour in their company.

So, take my advice, either feign ignorance or pretend you never got the invitation (this will also give an upper hand as you later torture the person for 'not' inviting you when you were so looking forward to it) or pretend that you're too above all these parties and you prefer the kingdom of The Lone Ranger, or simply just chill and hope you don't get invited.

I mean, seriously, who are you kidding you scrawny little loser, nobody is inviting you anywhere. Hurrah!!

Rain.

The rain poured down,

Like sheets of nectar,

My parched skin, my parched throat,

Sent heavenly thanks.

My lord showered upon me,

I sang with love,

Danced with devotion.

The smell, like a thousand flowers,

In my mother’s locks,

Like the incense she lit.

Filled my senses, intoxicated.

The drops in my eyes,

Changed my vision, and I saw the light.

Bursting out of every orb,

Every drop I’ve seen,

Made me pure,

Made me strong, made me weak.

That was the shine I craved,

The diamonds and pearls

The silver and the gold,

Nothing but raw nature.

Two Drops of Freedom

walk a road downtown,

mind's play, a fleeting glimpse.

two sides of roads untouched,

carry the warm feet ahead.

follow the road they say,

where to, who to,

they fail to say.

try to plot a murderous fling,

so long it went, unseen.

now the clock turns, the bells chime,

call out to the feet, to stop, to ride

the waves as they go,

but there are so many, the feet cringe

meet the stones, the sand,

stuck in the grace of chaos,

meet the guile, the wicked smile.

lose their balance and trip and fall.

why do they walk i say, 

why shouldn't they walk you say, 

why shouldn't they walk i say.

trace the ghoulish path,

they walk on,

 leave you behind,

leave them behind,

they go on, 

not the waves not the stones, 

mark a road of their own.

where it takes them?

to my pride, walk ahead .
walk away and out of sight.

blue and white

fire in water, unusual sight.

sand in hair, salt in eyes

blind the blue, and distort the green.

take it in, the sand in your feet.

its the brine that stings, the calm flutters.

the stony rocks and the pious sea, 

blend together like sandy fingers.

and create electricity.

the sea cringes, the stone ever sturdy

creeps slowly to etrust the feel.

it is a langorous cow, an attentive tigress,

drowns the stone and leaves it bare.

caresses and drenches, both alike.

When I give the Word.

I was taking my daily walk with a friend, biting into the delicious chocolate frostik, when suddenly she said something and i replied pretty dramatically with a few heavy words here and there. She stood there and stared at me for a second, giving me a 'what the hell is wrong with you' look. i said, "well, I'm a writer, I'm allowed such things." I've never refered to myself as a writer ever before, and i doubt i can for atleast another 5 years. But that one comment led me to think, why at all, did I say that. Well now, I'm not particularly a boaster, nor do i actually think of myself as such ( does this comment make me one?).I do not do cool things like play an instrument, dance all those complicated dance forms, click away to glory with an expensive DSLR, or play with colours and preserve a view on canvas. I want to confess though I take pride in calling myself a writer. She asked me, "dude, how can anybody write, I mean why do you write at all".

Well, here goes. I SUCK at expressing myself, I think writing covers that area. Or so it should. Apart from that, it opens a completely new world of possibilities. You can be anything, say anything for or against anyone, and they'll be reading your blog liking it. That is the power of the Word. When Written properly it has power to move nations. Gandhi, long back used this and sent a letter to Hitler. Martin Luther King made extensive use of it, so did a certain bored female who had nothing better to do. writing is actually a very twisted thing, its like wet clay, mould it in anything you want. If read carefully, it can probably map the writer's brain right in front of you.  It is like an eternal private joke with yourself (yea that's forever alone talk). Anyway, imagine the power one can get, by merely twisting words.

Also, to a writer, it doesn't really matter whether people like what they write, because if you start writing for yourself, you don't care. People might have different reasons for writing, some really serious ones, some for soul searching, some also to wile away time. Me? I don't have any such fancy motives. No i don't want to take over the world, I'm not a lonely little girl in a big bad world, nor do I have to put across a message that will make your life easier, reader.
I'm just,Me. I am Shivani Bansal, and Writing makes me happy.

The Mighty Me

I walked the sea of red,  shrouded by the gold gleam,

The weight upon my head, bore me down every second I stepped.

The sceptre in my hand, and the velvet coat,

Followed the girl in white, as she swung her flaxen rope.

Dropped to the chest of the man I felled,

Her eyes pouring down on me, with diamonds of grief.

Did the right thing, I took 20 heads

 my kingdom, grateful.

Her eyes took mine, and held them like gravity

Told me a hundered stories with but a single drop,

Caressing her cheek.

Slowly slid her hand to her father’s side,

Touched the hilt and made it pure.

The sabre kissed her neck as she made rubies.

The rings I bore, the pride.

I watched it settle to a pebble sitting there.

As she gave her head, she took mine,

Buried it 6 feet under, and shamed.

I drank that night, the elixir drinking me,

Saw her eyes, as they bore into the stone I had in me.

Pierced it like the sword at my hip,

Gleamed like the gems I had.

I took to white, at the sacred ground, bowed my head.

Walking the path of destiny, years after I gave up my stones.

I saw her, the girl in white, looking down upon me.

Stabbing me with her eyes, tearing down

The Mighty Me.