anil gupta's blog

when the stars fell incessantly
bad omen was written on all walls
but then that very night
was born
a dream
a hope
a possibility of something becoming some one
did we throw it way, almost
but the omen still is stuck
to the birth of his dream
but then dream is determined to be fulfilled
so much that eyes dont close
now for nights

when all deadlines have passed,
you need to ask, what is more to tie you
to the old dogma
of pressures of such limits
is it an urge to be there,
anywhere
some where
somehow

dont remind me that day, moist and far away,
dont show me the window
nor the all the gold that lay in the skies
dont ask me to show
all the pain i had in my body,
it still has not gone away
but i am aware
i was lying there
free from all coverings
that wisdom paints on one self
and then some storm
sucked all the spring,
why should one feel drained
why

dont whitewash this wall again
let the stains stay
it is true to its history that way,
let the stains stay

why did you call me other day
when i had no hopes left
and there was no reason to say
what you said, unhesitatingly, your way
yes, just your way, u will complain
for what could not be done, how hard he tried,
but be as it may
i will still try, you will not sense it,
i will still try, and pray
no matter what you say
i will still and pray

why has autumn set in already
is spring too far this time,
will lake like
or the sky will spike
chances of any tsunami
breaking out of banks
no matteer how strong
will the waves measure
the depth of the anchor
by breaking the ship

Kaali

you have wetted all the curtains of my house
wind was already cold, now it is humid too,
as if all the tears
have evaporated and dissolved
in the breaths that you take

why should sad music surprise you
dont we let silence speak
in the moment of sadness
can we not hear, feel and perhaps
touch the breaths
that are so far apart
and yet are dissolved in the same sky
that has teh clouds
which rained today
albiet slowly, hesitatingly

when blossoms bloom in your garden
waves gather all the foam of fame
that boats had sought
quietly
when storms had resolved to publicise
but now in obscurity of oblong shadows
you are sulking
and moistened leaves
of diary are
refusing to even turn easily

scaffolding of weak creepers
strong trunks
flowing river
eroded banks
when will u ask and say
what resonates in your corridor
of conscience

may be you have heard it, is that why you are silent

does flood serve no purpose?
should a river always flow with in the confines of banks,
every river, all banks?

what if we transcend some edges, some times
are we disenfranchised from the
poll of purity
in our thoughts and action
will those far off fields which get water
only because river is in flood,
will not complain
who will lift water to those shores
tell me , who will irrigate those dry, famished corners of my heart,
your heart,
this world?