Abhey Gupta

Category: Poems

Free verse and quiet poems — in English and Hindi — on love, longing, loss, and the slow work of healing.

  • In Him

    A long-awaited day of life —
    not so special, yet quite unusual.
    It crossed the boundaries once laid down;
    the beauty of the day still undisclosed.

    Special was this dusky evening he had;
    lucky, he guessed, was the day he wore.
    Nature was perplexed by the nature of a day —
    but its core will be understood this time.

    He breathes a relief from his agony,
    feeling glad of his journey;
    distances undiscovered, and the rest now seen,
    will be crossed in this new journey of life.

    Struggling through all those days,
    he forgot to live his own way.
    But time has changed once again —
    it is time to live, the right way, again.

    He is not going to stop in life;
    he will explore the unseen passage,
    weaving a poem, and his message,
    reflecting the poet he holds within him.

  • Hate is Still

    A long, unsleeping night,
    a day that never sees its dawn,
    a light that never reaches its destination —
    just shades of a darker, all-too-real life.

    He is not so distant from you,
    yet a bridge still stands between you;
    he is not afraid of fate or fortune —
    but why is he so different now?

    His questions are a paranoid memory,
    needing a listener to be shared;
    control is not all that he needs.
    Is he searching for the unsaid question?

    Rise above all the bargaining and melancholy —
    darkness is all he loves now.
    You give him sorrow; he confronts it.
    At least it’s hate she is still giving him.

  • All Again Alone

    Ashes from a past of fire —
    some through my eyes, some upon old wounds.
    Unknown fragments of who I was,
    perhaps reborn somewhere,
    have begun to dominate my present.
    I justify myself — but am I really immune?

    Ciphers and deep secrets speak,
    and I am lost somewhere within them.
    It was never friendly to me —
    all this taking and throwing away,
    crossing the river, left undone at last,
    trying every effort to subdue my deeds,
    to dub over that lost ray of what came before.
    But I have shaken it off — all of it — again, alone.

  • Shall I

    You are not close to my mind —
    and my soul, perhaps, knows this is the truth.
    Nor should I hold the strength
    to chase it, or to face that truth.

    I may not be special to you,
    nor even worth a single tear.
    But this feeling of mine doesn’t care for that;
    maybe we’ll be the same again one day —
    or maybe you’ll never see my face again.

    Does any of it still matter to you?
    Inside my heart, the feeling stays,
    where you hold a forever place.
    But shall I keep living this feeling this way,
    or shall I finally break away?

    I cannot hold my tears like this.
    My life will never be the same —
    so shall I go on living even one more day?

  • My Life

    Life turns out to be an endless puzzle —
    an endlessness that cannot be simply solved.
    Simple — it sounds so simple to you;
    and to you I am grateful, in many a verse.

    The voice of life is so full in itself, and unbounded;
    cruel it is, yet always a way toward calm.
    Deaf in so many ways, yet such resounding music —
    rhythmic it beats, with the power of the pure.

    I hope to meet my absolute evil one day,
    and tell him: I am not the same toward life anymore.
    No more regrets to you, no pain of the past —
    living in the moment is all I have now.

    My life now turns to the less-travelled way:
    less hearing, less thinking, but more doing.
    The soul moves my body, once a slave to sorrow —
    for life is a life only by its journey to a destination.

  • Let Me Die

    Lord, my Lord — let me sleep forever.
    Restless is my soul; let it rest forever.
    This shallow heart is more complex than ever —
    let me die, in spirit, tonight.

    I died a long time ago, in every way but body;
    now, today, let me sleep endlessly.
    Say my prayers, and remember everyone;
    let my wandering soul rest in your garden.

    A martyr I am not,
    a flower of love I do not have —
    only a boulevard of longing dreams
    that shattered my mind with a knife of panic.

    Let me rest today, completely.

  • Don’t Have Now

    One day, hurt and confused,
    I looked around — where am I?
    I was trying to find myself again,
    but the mirror of my guilt stood before me.

    I looked at him; he stared back at me.
    Tired, at last, of trying to neglect him,
    he still followed me —
    am I his shadow, or is he me?

    Confusing… but at least it is my own.
    I thought as much, and moved on,
    yet paranoia was all I felt;
    there was nothing left to see.

    I have come to understand one thing:
    running away was never the solution.
    What shall I tell my soul now,
    lost in the depth of all I don’t have now?

  • Forgive Me

    I was wrong, and somewhere, so were you…
    Things were never as bad as they seemed.
    A few uttered words of my soul,
    and a few of hers, dissolved it all—
    the unnamed thing we had between us.

    Hope is all I can do, and all I have now.
    Things will be the same again someday;
    I’ll hold the same dreams in my eyes
    and taste those tears of joy once more.
    I’ll hear those words one day—
    but silence is all I assume for now.

    I’ve heard it often: time heals all wounds.
    But feeling—can it ever be surpassed?
    This is the one thing I know, after all of this:
    some things will never bend to your will.

    So I let go of all my complaining—
    forgive me, because I was wrong.

  • If I Am

    If I were a free-flying bird,
    touching the heights of the sky,
    free-falling, then rising again,
    flying higher and higher—

    if I were a snake,
    moving here and there,
    watching for my prey,
    hissing out my bravery—

    if I were a mammal,
    walking and running for food,
    fighting for my own space—
    happiness would still be there.

    But if I am a human being,
    all I do is fool the others;
    greed is the only thing I tend,
    killing another for my pride.

    If I am a human being,
    then I am no longer me—
    I have lost my soul in a world of money,
    and I blame others for my fate.

    So I am no more a human being.

  • The Hypocrites

    Everyone wears a face,
    asking one another, “Tell me about you”—
    knowing so little of anything,
    yet boasting about everything.

    My nerves are so messed up;
    I feel completely drained.
    Thinking it over, again and again—
    what do I do? What do I really do?

    Should I become like them,
    or make a rule of my own?
    Should I try to change them,
    or bend beneath my own knees?

    Yes—that is the question:
    what face should I wear today?
    That I’m the happiest of all,
    that I never get hurt,
    that I’m not alone in this world?

    I’m still confused, as if by nothing,
    spending all day and night
    thinking it through to a summary—
    wearing faces upon faces,
    living each day behind a new one,
    calling them my self, and me.