anil gupta's blog

Take this small lunch box
I have packed a few patties
Cooked for you
A little pudding
And a few dates
Dried but sweet
I know your teeth are strong
You can chew
All those words
Which I didnot want to hear
Or say
But it is ok now
Don’t forget to carry
This lunch box
It also has some clouds
I had harvested from a blue sky
Which is now
Dark
But take this with you

I know you are going
O postman
No more will I get my letters
In this small hut
Located so far
No more will I get
Envelops without address
And stamps
Just because
You always knew
What I wanted sometimes to read
Go
Postman go
Where you will find only people
Whose letters
Had addresses
Rightly written
Go
From this
Mad world
Go

It is easy to imagine
That one can build a world without
Temples
In which one worships
At the feet of deities
Who demand many sacrifices
But can that world have enough space
For the emerging wings
Of a pink bird
That has learned to fly
In a sky I had painted that night
When all the stars
Had fallen on ground
One has stuck
With me
And I can’t let that go away
Even if it hurts
May be because
It hurts

Who is the lucky one
Who dug out all the roots of the
Saplings planted in a garden
Lest their thorns
Get entangled with your scarf when
You carelessly wrap it
Around on a cold wintry night

Or the one
Who has embarked upon
A new journey
With bottles full of water
For quenching thirst on the way

Why will then you stop by
Near a well
I had been digging
Just in case we needed the water
But that is not relevant any more
Go
The lucky one

Tides are not keeping any tally
Of the boats that got sunk
When storm took over the reins
Of mad waves
Why sit there
Watching
The way
One after another
Castles of sand
I had built with you are swallowed
By the hungry tides
What will i offer to them now
They are still
Thirsty

pregnant hills
would not deliver the stream
to moisten my dry garden
i know this
and yet
i wait
for the volcanic eruption
which will swallow all the restraints
and put at rest
the aspirations of those stones
which i had gathered from the road
so that when you walk on it
they dont hurt your feet
now these stones have given up
all the fire which could have led the volcano to erupt
has quietened
dont look for smouldering fire
in these heap of stones
there are silent spectators
and road is unwilling to accept
and thus continues to wait
walk over it when it is possible, even if a few steps
only

surreptitious subtleties are raising their head
why should i let them do so
let them lie buried deep inside
nonsense poems
artistic liberties
license to let go
are all excuses

are they?

locked door
welcoming eyes
impatient wrinkles
cracked door
frame

Will I have seen
The warmth of a tiny smile
That erupted on your face
When a tendril
Intertwined around
A sprout of serenity

Disengagement was a gift
It was a discovery
It was a license to love
The moments all around me
But which had been missed for so long
But no more
Let the sprouts know
They are not fragile any more
They are my sustenance

A Man Takes A Single Rake to The Beach. And When You Zoom Out And See It… Mind BLOWN.

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when life is in the moment,
why does my heart reverberate so much

why cant i just absorb, assimilate and be free of restraints
on my sprit

is it the curse of memories
which traps spontaneity.
then take away, o Kaali, my ability to remember

A brief
Blissful encounter
In the morning
Disengagement with all the strings
Pulling me back
The inertia was celebrated
By recursive prayers
For new engagements
And morning obliged
Don’t complain again
I may accede to your
Call
Prayers may get answered
And encounters may follow
More often