anil gupta's blog

the venue has changed but drama is on

no matter what you may say
but the dreams are born
every day when i do not find

towel in place

or my kerchief hanging

and button broken

with no axe to grind

i ask myself

is this the way you show your presence

in my life and path, all the time

without a moment to spare

asking me, what is hence

kisney kaha yeh

kya hai sach

kyun stabdh hai,

toota sa kyun lagta hai

samaya ka kawach

kyun khul gaya

rahasya nahin yeh,

sahaj bhav hai

jisney bhi bhoga hai isko

wo sneha dhara mein bah gaya

baaki to kuchh khaas nahin hai

kehney ko

aur sunaney ko

lekin jid hai tumhari

is liye na chahtey huey bhi

sab kuchh kah gaya

holding my hand

u drew me into the garden

where  flowers were feeing unsettled

the breeze had abandoned

it usual caution

and the trees were reluctant

to let the nests of the birds stay longer

with an ally in strong wind

did they care where will go the young

dreams

of the birds

why do i cheat myself, do i

diamond are held  in 16 carot gold

pure gold does not lend itself to be moulded

no matter how hard we try to goad it
does it matter for whom

we pray

so long as our impurities can give

us the right to hold

your Images, O Mother

shall we remain imperfect

why should i celebrate

what has changed

who has held up the train

why are tracks so old

whose fault is it

that cracks are showing up

\in the  large canvas you had painted the other day

pl judge me harsh
but not by reflection
of a broken mirror
or the notes that may stir
chords which i do not play any more
i am extinguished
and the black soot
of the lamp
has painted the sky dark

already

to do this or that

walk here or there

embrace her shadows

or lie at her feet

Ma Kaali never tells you,

what  is the right way

she merely challanges you

to dig deeper and deeper with in

some find gold, some just dirt

but whatever we find

is after all, our own,

you may like it

or not

but the time has come

to accept

and be bold

chart out the path,

seek the unseeked

speak the unspoken

listen the unheard

who knows

what is in store

a vile thought

or a prayer pure

who cares what the world says
when he is no more
if it is  right or wrong
no more to score
the life will move on
but will remain behind
some footprints
grass will grow in a few
and in some, will grow wild mints
the aroma of which will attract you
from  places far and near
to find what,
an illusion, a facade,
or a deeply entangled soul, my dear

the stoicism of the yesterday’s priest is diluted

the resolve to struggle is weaker

the years spent in discovering new reason to walk on

are  suddently seeming to be wasted

but are they really!!

do tears and toil ever erode

do not let the temporary

setbacks rough shod

over your slightly diluted resolve

life has its own reward

for those who maintain  their comittment

regardless of the meanings,

ignoring the past, no matter how much

is it hard