anil gupta's blog

have been grounded too long,
tied to the tethers of tranquillity
let me wade through turbulent columns
of queer waves
who knows, the abrasions will get me
rid of all pretensions
possessed so fondly
so long

wornout pending work list
is a good package for pop corns

just that pop corn get moistened a bit
because unmet deadlines cry too much

weathered by the time
memories may sprout
let us give them a happy burial
let us celebrate
who knows when do we
find a new rainbow
hanging on widow sill

every time, withering rocks promise
storms dont care
winds whisper
punctured armour
patient precipice,
hold the sliding glaciers
the exposed mountain
pains the roots of every shrub exposed
why let pain prosper

Well of wellness is filled up
With your blessings
Said the roots of a vine
Climbing on a tree
Tendril holding the tender branches
Leaves curled coyly
As if they had just been caressed by the breeze
Now we should decide
If the rain will be let
Down to drain the suffocated tears
Or wash the stains of subtle insistence
Of a thunderstorm
To take its toll
Dont do a poll
To find out
How popular Is the detached devotion
Of a pilgrim
Who hasnot slept for years
In the arms of an assured evening
Let him lie under a tree
About to give way
To the desires of a colony
Of white ants
Whose caravan has reached the shore of an
Island
Where pilgrim has planned to rest
May be ants are here to test
The resolve of each other
To try, without a sigh
Without
A
Sigh

i am not good at toasting bread
it often turns black, when i am lost in my thoughts
or becomes too brown
i try to tell her that i will improve
but i am a project in progress
seldom do i improve in ceratin matters
and toasting is one of them
dont we toast relationshop too warm,
too brown sometimes
insisting on crispiness always
we contrive fire,
heat
and also crest
but then slowy baking is not reassuring enough to some

will you ever empty the jar of tears
i had filled
absentmindedly
so that cactii we had planted in your garden dont dry
but now after a long drought
when cactus are no more
why keep the jar still
tightly closed
open it
let its content flow
no matter what they show
dont cry
dont shout
dont insist
just let the caresses of careless wind
sweep its wings through your hairs
and then flying locks
will open up
leaving the sky red
and earth blue

will the wooden bracket suffice
to keep the sculpture i crafted for you
will you rather hang it on wall
with just one nail
when you could keep it in the air for ever
why fix more,
save the nails
save the calls,
dont bother who sees it
it being there matters
so what
if the lone bird just chatters

The lone walker
In the forest
With not many treks intact
Has lost his way
Not that it would take long to
Find the mo0rings

But for the present,
he is lost
In a maze of meaninglessness
Dont show him the way
For he may love to be lost

It’s not easy
Ever
To lose track of beaten paths
Even these paths were made by you
Let me take a deep breath
Let here be inner silence
So that all the din outside
Dims the flares
The heat
The fire
The cold aftermath

Don’t ever try to possess a shooting star
It will burn into ash
Or fall like a meteorite
Cold rocks do not give warmth
At least not for long
They just wither away
Like a speck of dust settled
After a storm