Abhey Gupta

Author: Abhey Gupta

  • At the Dawn of a New Horizon

    The clock says 1:07 a.m., 1st January — and I am wondering what I can offer in the dusk of the departing year. A farewell? Or should I begin with something — an offering for the new horizon ahead of this dawn? But the point shifts to something that amazes me this time: the timeline itself.

    I posted my status online, wishing everyone a Happy New Year, but with a line of my own: “A single joyous moment of life can overcome many wells of sadness — and we are all just in a quest for that one moment.”

    With this end-that-is-a-beginning, I notice one thing: how small happiness can be, and yet how the fulfilment it offers compares to nothing else. A stranger’s smile, a loved one’s goodbye, the adieu of a good or a bad year — a farewell is always welcomed with something new in life.

    I have ended some of my years in the easy comfort of losing myself, or of losing others; but the strange thing is, I never quite encounter it. It means that whatever I attain in life will, one day, perish. We forget this with time — yet when it comes to action, we meet the greatest fear of life: being alone. It is this fear that makes us weak and vulnerable.

    There is nothing worse than satisfaction — but longing is equally bad.

    The essence is this: life is just a fountain of moments. Whether by the muddy way or by decoration, it has to find itself again.

    Often, the subject most talked about is the one I understand the least.

  • Mesmerising

    He is lost again, in the world of love,
    sailing a long way — but with the one he loves;
    and every time he looks into her eyes,
    all he sees is an endless ocean of time.

    She stretches her arms around him every time he cries;
    though he pauses to dip into his thoughts,
    nevertheless, he tries —
    like a man mid-sea, with nowhere to go,
    all he needs is her love, every time.

    He sailed his boat to part,
    but fate is something no one can deny;
    it all meets at the point of love, every time.
    Sacred, and beloved — a lover, not just another;
    he longs to be a part of the story —
    the lovers, and the happy ending.

  • Running Ends of Clock

    I am walking plain roads, but leaving my steps behind;
    reasons, or wants — but quarrels and love in all.
    Never a pearl, nor less than any precious memory —
    yet I am lost in a garland of them.
    “O you, the traveler of memories — where do you stop, and shed your nights in the same place?”

    A silent way ahead, but at the cost of what?
    Maybe some lost friends,
    maybe some buds of love,
    or just a few pieces of my own soul,
    lost on the highway of it all.

    I am travelling on plain ground, to leave a few more steps behind,
    hoping to last this journey with the known;
    but the steps of the day outlast the thirst of my every moment —
    joyous in nothing ahead, again, but these steps I have walked down.

  • Chasing Old Dreams

    The long time, and the long way —
    but all I feel has passed in a few short hours;
    all is clear, yet forgetting turns melancholic,
    and still I walk, instead of tempting loneliness.

    Instead of tagging the best moments of life,
    all I hold is a restless struggle with myself;
    it began with the start, toward an end —
    but with the endless journey of arguments,
    day after day passes, like an inheritance.

  • Trail of Shadow

    As I move far from my shadow,
    it only seems to close on me more each time;
    the moment of standing comes with the grave of a lamb,
    and life ends with the sorrow of all left undone.

    Gestures only lead somewhere deeply lost,
    but the quest is to lose yourself;
    though it gives way to a better tomorrow,
    the question is — what is worse than satisfaction?

    The more you try to answer, every time,
    you weave another knot of paranoia.
    I know it would never end like this;
    but what I want to know is — if this is not the end,
    then what is it, and where?

  • Was It Me…?

    A lone way, shredding itself apart,
    though the steps felt firm as a shell;
    descending, yet into the tomb —
    forward was the only step down.

    Every attempt held a nightmare for the night,
    lugged with fears, and hidden away;
    but when thoughts dive into time,
    all they perceive is a lie.

    Yet as the smoke clears off the timeline,
    life is beautiful as a single drop of time —
    far too little to spill it on hate;
    just add more love to every space.

    Life will perish, but not the thought;
    and the journey of hate is the sorrow of the soul.
    Everything will pass, but the quest will last —
    was it me, chasing every thought?

  • My Thoughts

    Far, but not farther;
    near, but no nearer than my thoughts.
    Every lonely night, I wonder at the wandering moon —
    but the question is: where are you, my soul?

    At times, I too fear the distance,
    broader than any other memory;
    harder it is to feel, like any rock —
    yet everything is like a flowing river.

    A pebble, and a trembling heart,
    both adrift in a spring of flowing tears,
    from end to end — but this journey will never last.

    I am travelling all night for your return,
    like the moon that falls only to rise above the horizon,
    wrapped all around in clouds of love —
    but life is not a question of mine alone.

  • All of Me & You

    Closest at the altar of eyes, all I remember is you;
    I watch you go, quiet as my eyes,
    with a glimpse of day — just all of me and you.
    You spare a moment for me again,
    and we return to a lonely me and you.

    I hope to see the dawn again,
    just to get back to all of me and you.
    I dream all night for signs,
    and rest in the arms of you;
    I wake to see you sigh,
    with a love for all of me and you.

    I live in the heart, and for life,
    and I am happy, like a smiling you;
    I end only to start my every life
    with you, and for all of me and you.

  • As I Grow

    Once, I played with toys;
    now I am a toy for others.
    I loved diving into the mud;
    now I am scared of every colour.

    Life was as easy as a video game —
    and all I do now is cry;
    I lost more of myself as I grew up.

    It was all parties and joy;
    now it all shows the odds against you.
    The sleepless night before the day of the trip
    turned to sleeplessness in anger and agony.

    Laughter had no other reason; no —
    a crying devil before every fake smile.
    Hardest, once, was working hard —
    then it became working hard just to die.

    Every day was once another smile.
    I always knew the world had different faces,
    but it was never such a heavy thought
    as it is now, as I grow up.

  • An Hour

    An hour, when I wake into her arms,
    I feel the whole world fall behind mine;
    time plays its moments so tenderly,
    and I fly to reach that time.

    An hour at midday, alone,
    remembering all the good mornings with you;
    and this time, time is slipping away,
    just to reach your arms around me.

    An hour when I am apart from you,
    longing to live and to love you;
    and time smiles devilishly
    at every attempt I make.

    The hour at midnight — you, again;
    I wonder how lucky I am.
    This time, I am living the reality,
    and I hear the words of love in her heart.