anil gupta's blog

when the desert will bloom
and lakes will flourish
with fishes that will roam freely
not just in the water but above the ground
trees will swim and
moons will grow on their branches
what will happen to the poets
they will sharpen plough shears
and pulverize the soil
any soil, or rich organic soil
but will not soil complain
it would let weeds do the task
it would not like ploughs and all other violations

now, let me tell you,
in this world,
you will not see,
i will not tell
but conversations will become clouds
will u still want desert to bloom, clouds to rain

when the nights dont drain completely
leftover lave, molten but not too hot
starts to flow
down the slope
of hopes
that are not meant to grow
why does the jungle of all
desires has to be so wild
so untamed
but then will it be jungle any more

why do we celebrate our opaqueness
is it to preserve the sanctity of mortal,
limited, meanings that can only be kept intact
in those closets
which we have created
through our cultural evolution
for years, centuries
and yet
yearning for openness remains
may be tribal instinct
to live in every moment
without trace of a memory
why are we afraid of memories
why not just be there
celebrating the freedom
of purity of thoughts
every moment
every day
every millenia

a dark shadow is beautiful
when light is away from it
not that it cares
or it is shy of asking,
why is it that she dares
the lips of a lotus power
breaches of a thunder shower
dont ask to be defined
then just be there
no matter if we care
without memory
with no promise of a future
one’s freedom is not always rare

when the river is dry, what is flowing underneath,
it seems, that rivers go underground
when sky comes too close
and the winds are shying away

when you are so far away
the aroma of those breaths
taken slowly
will not dissolve the
flavour of all the dishes
cooked at sattvik
why will you then expect
i will devour these foods
alone
i will not
i will stay contented with simple
morsels
of
mint fries in a meandering tray

Dec 17

When drops of dew
Danced on the edge of your Tongue
What could one do
Swallow the soup
Of unripe dreams
And cut her umbilical chord
Bury it
Under a tree

When you are where
no one goes
You have almost closed
The gate to that place,

The fire in the oven
The baked bread
The stale wine
And the roasted dreams
Of that shining armour
Which made the warrior lose
the war

“………

“……….

When the wrinkles
Had declared
the limits of license
That life could take
With moments so deep

The decision wasn’t tough
Nor the matter was rough
The layers of living memories
Had wrapped

The signs of significance
Why will
One not say
What had happened
Or shall I say , may
Happen in times to come
U can be sure
And all the burdens
Will be undone

………..

why should we need pensive interlude
when journey has just begun

cant we just remember
that a mediative pause after a few more turns
might make us lose the impatience for
reaching there
but how does it matter,
when do we reach where
so long as
you have bestowed, Ma kaali
me with the capacity to drain my reserves humbly,
and helplessly