anil gupta's blog

when the journeys do not end

and the unspoken words  become the bridges

why do we complain

when the evening are a bit sullen

the life demands its toll tax

and more we explore, more gates we pass through

more tax we must pay

should not we

why would we regret the boulders on the way,

who knows when would l they hold some flood

or a truck whose breaks have failed

why should not every time

you turn your face away

i must imagine that you had tonnes of smiles

which you could  not contain

but were afraid to unload in my courtyard

i am lighter now

few  wrinkles in my kurta, that were there,

have declared

he restless nights that i have  spent

in wishing for a bell to ring

and the curtains to come down

on the play

that has no charactrs, but

which is kept on stage because audience

find it easy to stay, dispel the notion

that audiences can be created,

actors will rest now

rainbow has tilted after all

u climbed it from one end

and i got down from the other

why should we wait for sun to dry the tears

would not wiping these make sense

but then who has the kerchief

big enough to soak all the tears

why will we create a dam to store these

will the  streams not be able to contain all the dust

which rose when caravans  passed away

without pausing even for a minute

to see how the marks of their wheels

had distracted streams from their course

when the freedom craves for constraints

when the love seeks boundaries

when trees invite amarbel

and when the moist soil seeks sun

one can imagine that liberty has taken roots

the boundaries between what is and ought to be has broken down

tanha si ho gayi hai ab vaadiya kyun yahan

kis daur se gujar raha hai, jamana  yahan

kaun bhool gaya tha, hawaon ko  lagana ek kala teeka

kiski nazar lag gayi, kaisey jal gaya sara gulistan

thoda ruk jao, aur sun lo hawaye kya paigam layi hain

kiski bewafai ka, ab matam mana rahi hai, yeh surf  fizan

thoda yakeen badao, thoda haath badao, thoda to thamo,

in wadion mein chhupi hai, agar mehsoos kar sako, mohabbat bepanah

i am like a snail, dried and malformed

but still attractive enough for a child to pick it up

and play with it

till it cracks

and he cries

comes along an affectionate
mother who consoles

him and tells him

she will find another snail

another malformed

one

another journey abandoned

so that the child can play

why not

well,
may be when i am unmasked,
the poems get better
i become dust
in your hairs
and you go for a wash
drained form there, i dry up and rise again
thsi time through a storm
and get into your eyes
more you rub these
more deeper i get embedded
do not let me go away
do not shed the tears

she mistook oscillations of the lamp
> to be the sign of spark
> and when she went closer
> found a burnt out flame, just some ash
> no wood, no fire
> embers had gone to sleep
> so that the fire flies will live
> for a day longer

have you heard what the investigators have found

a grave was left untended in the yard,

because the followers did not find a way of cleaning

they wrote down an epitaph,

‘leave the place in the hands of nature’

Now that I clean up the dried leaves and some cow webs

I find some traces of dried flowers

May be some one came long ago

And offered it on the grave

Why would some body come here?

What have I done for any one, will ask the spirit

But then people do not come

Only to pay back the debts

They may come

Because the one who lies buried, did not pay the debt

And by offering the flowers

They remind the world

Do not pay back certain debts

If you wish to be remembered

Do you remember?

I am no more the substance, but you still are the spirit

Why do we suffer alone

And celebrate together

Why is it that meanings are lost

And the contexts only matter

How is it that we fear the  Kaali so much

And yet when Deity  is in front,

For her forgiveness, we clamor

Why are we not sure ever

What is that which we seek now or after

Why is this vain hope of surrender?

Will incompleteness not survive this storm

Of uncertain streams and undecided norms

I know how does one placate the priest

Offer the flowers, kneel on ground and say

I am no more the substance, but you still are the spirit

You will have your way, no matter what the world would say

Aug 6, 2007