anil gupta's blog

so what
if my branches are naked
having shed all leaves
are not they more earnest
in holding the clouds
which wind is eager to take away

when we need to walk
on paths to goals, far beyond
what we can see today,
do we seek guarantee that
clouds will not behave erratically
if they do, they will
one can not impose discipline on winds
clouds
and their shadows
at sunset
in which aroma of withering leaves gets mixed
and i wish to sleep then
under this tree
so what if its branches are naked…

does it matter whether wave embraces the shore
or vice versa?
asked the snail on the shore
before she could answer
a wave swallowed her
i hope to be a snail
soon
but then i will not ask the question any more
i will just hope to be swallowed

standing on the precipice
you can
tilt the seesaw
and enjoy the cries of the child
on the top end
but you know
he is safe and will be brought down
but will you go up
too
not sure
play
keep on playing the game
krishna plays
with flute and the breeze that
blows his way
some day it will flow my way too

dissolved the boundaries
allowed ripples to creep in
and embrace the dried trees on the shore
spring did not bring new leaves
sea remained calm
but volcano has erupted
what will it engulf
remains to be seen
let the lava flow

tendrils are not ready to intertwine
but light is too far away,
creeper is now at stand still
the reflections of moon are no substitute

i am not sure as much now
as i was before
may be i have discovered the truth
or may be my ability to live with paradoxes
has increased
or i am
withering away slowly

Looking for nectar
Bees went all around
The flower bed
Just behind the old fort
Were not sensed
Was it because the bees
Were disoriented
Or is it the gardener was negligent?

Shadows chase
My spring
But will you resuscitate
The drowning
Autumn
Or let it pass away

Spring is knocking
But autumn
Of my life
Isn’t
Yet over
Will it give way
Now that
Nothing more
Remains to be shed

Yeh,
Nothing more
Remains to be said

A White angel
Came to my door last night
In a black dress
Offering to sing a song
That I had written
When the seasons were shining
And summer was not too hot
When a walk though the forest
Despite boils in the feet
Didn’t deter
You from dancing
But my song was not just a song
It was a prayer
To soothen the nerves
Of horses
In the carriage
Which carried you to the sea port
Where your next ship
Was anchored
To take you
To a twilght zone
East and the west could meet there
Just as at sunset time
Light and darkness pursue each other
Not knowing who swallows whose pride
Does it matter really