Abhey Gupta

Author: Abhey Gupta

  • The Last Time

    I held my breath,
    and moved nervously toward her;
    I held her hand,
    and whispered my love.
    Far from all the situations,
    I offered her everything…

    I held her in my arms,
    and pressed her lips to mine;
    I moved closer to her,
    and promised a great time ahead…
    Although I stood there long,
    I am still standing there.

    So many nights passed by,
    and I wondered every day;
    but she never looked back,
    and I told myself, “the time wasn’t right”…
    Yet I closed my eyes,
    and dreamed of her again.

    It hurts, knowing the reality is far away,
    and I don’t like it anymore;
    but I glanced back through that time,
    and asked her to be mine again.
    She didn’t understand — just like the last time —
    and I offered her one final goodbye.

  • Adieu

    Pluck her not like a flower,
    though she is the most beautiful of all…
    Care for her like a child,
    for she carries the one within her heart…

    Ever look beyond her smile —
    she holds a whole spring of happiness…
    She has everything, and yet
    she deserves more than a shadow of you…

    And one morning, we cheer;
    but she is in everything, and shines…
    Far beyond the horizon of imagination,
    she is the one — with everything in her eyes…

    And travelling every day through her memories,
    I wonder: is she the journey, or the destination?
    But should I ever find the most beautiful place,
    it would be no better than her heart…

    The longer you stay with her, in joy,
    the more beautiful the memories she makes — forever.
    Her eyes may seem lost and alone at times,
    but she is more beautiful than ever…

  • The First Day

    Glancing out the window one night, I see
    hundreds of wanderers — of mine, and of yours;
    all are a part of this night, and apart from the daylight.
    When all are forks of my one, or many, desires —
    what shall I understand from the faces of time?

  • रंगमंच

    ज़िन्दगी है एक रंगमंच,
    जिसने जो बोला, वो सच का साया;
    जिसने जो देखा, वही उसने सोचा।
    कुछ वक़्त का नाटक,
    और फिर सब कुछ ग़ायब।

    यहाँ है हर रोज़ एक तमाशा,
    लेकिन सच को भला किसने समझा?
    क्योंकि ज़िन्दगी तो है, बस, रंगमंच का एक साया…

  • Miracle of Storm

    It was long ago, in the bazaar of love,
    when ships were sailing in the hue of sand,
    and we travelled miles together —
    but spent the rest of the journey in hate.

    I hide myself in the sand of time,
    passing through and through that mile;
    she comes and goes with a hope —
    one day, or one life, I’ll have her.

    Like a desert with no reason for death,
    I never could stand a reason to love again;
    but with the grace of words, and of silence,
    I speak my hate again — with a love for her.

    She is a miracle of storm,
    flowing away with every gust of the tale;
    some are stories, some are fable —
    but I just settle with the dream of her.

    And with the loss, I conquer the fear of losing her.

  • दौड़

    यह दौड़ है कैसी,
    जिसमें रोज़ है हार-जीत;
    रोज़ कोई डरता है इस दौड़ से,
    और फिर अपने ही कल में खो जाता है।

    बेबसी से चलता आज का कल,
    और पल-पल खोता अपना जीवन;
    समझ से सब दूर जैसे —
    लेकिन अक्सर, यह सोच, दिल रोता है…

  • Divide of Time

    A sea of hope, or the death of desire,
    and the curling thread of thoughts
    conspire — the smaller, the shadow of light;
    yet harder it is to get by, in this time of thine.

    But I cross the bridge with the company of her smile,
    and in all that is left — the happiness of her, and mine.

  • यह ज़िन्दगी

    कभी लगे ज़िन्दगी दरिया-सी छोटी, तो कभी सागर-सी गहरी;
    एक रोज़ रात के सन्नाटे को जीती, और किसी रोज़ चाँदनी में जगमगाती।
    एक कल से भागते हुए, एक कल को बुनते हुए — जीते हैं हम यह ज़िन्दगी;
    न जाने किस ओर जाती हुई, लड़खड़ाती और चलती हुई — यह ज़िन्दगी।

  • The Bird’s Tail

    Swiftly, she is flying through these dreams of mine;
    and every time I look — just look — into her eyes, I find my own.
    I hide myself from her world,
    but how could I ever do that, with this heart of mine?

  • Belovers

    Hand in hand, the lovers and the beloved,
    the loving soul of the world, and of God;
    but now, glancing through the mirror of time —
    just the remembrance of goodness, walking down the street, alone.