Abhey Gupta

Tag: Freedom

  • Is It or Isn’t?

    Is it, or is it not,
    this weight upon my mind —
    these chains of expectation
    that tether me to time?

    Is it, or is it not,
    the whispers of the past,
    the duties and the norms
    that bind me in their clasp?

    To break, or not to break,
    from all that’s deemed as right;
    to wander through the shadows,
    to flee into the night.

    Is it, or is it not,
    the call of distant dreams —
    the urge to leave the structure,
    to tear apart the seams?

    To live, or not to live,
    in patterns so confined;
    to seek a path less travelled,
    to free the heart and mind.

    Is it, or is it not,
    a question that divides —
    the longing for the open,
    the fear of shifting tides?

    Yet somewhere in the silence,
    a voice begins to sing —
    a melody of freedom,
    a flight on unbound wings.

    To break is to discover,
    to cast off all we’ve known,
    to walk into the future,
    uncharted, and alone.

    Is it, or is it not,
    the courage we must find —
    to loosen all the bindings,
    and leave it all behind?

  • Journey

    I walk on the sky, I play with the wind;
    I sleep with the moon, and wake with the sun;
    I love everyone, and someone —
    today, I am the one: you.

  • Journey of Self

    Wake up, into the close of night,
    when dreams are of the morning;
    love and peace all around,
    and the euphoria of a new day.
    With the sun’s height,
    hope, and waving tides,
    some players around the corner,
    others waiting for another morning.

    Wake up, into the start of the day,
    with the aim of walking again to the destined;
    to the endless, but known, roads —
    one with the glorious red lights,
    and another, of endless desires.
    But the time is right with the dawn:
    new day, new hope,
    just like a sun ray, soaking everything.
    Today is the day — when it starts:
    the journey of self.

  • Morning at Mourning

    Beneath the moon, up in the sky,
    the wind is blowing, high tide;
    I fear not the losing —
    I am travelling with time.

    Morning with light, morning with a smile,
    morning of freedom, morning of cessation;
    though not always morning —
    sometimes a morning at the mourning of a lost one,
    the mourning of what is left behind.
    But this mourning is better than a morning
    without oneself, lost in the darkness of last night.

  • Way to Home

    Waking in the arms of your creator,
    and breathing free air all the way;
    lost in the nothingness of the bluish, infinite sky,
    wondering at countless stars on a lonely night;

    gazing at the moon to spot an alien ship someday,
    trying random spells, hoping to work magic with them one day —
    these are memoirs for forever;
    and nothing else ever gives such satisfaction.

  • Night of a Day

    Wherever this night may take me tonight,
    I will throw my arms open, alive;
    wherever I may roam in search of love,
    I will learn my way back to hope, every time.

  • The Sky of His Own Story

    The fliers of dreams have no time to stay back in the nest and talk of comfort;
    the travelers of the endless sky keep no count of how many times they’ve been pushed back. At the height of success, even the moon may cast your shadow off your glory —
    yet even a winner must lose his ground once, if only to reach the sky of his own story.

  • If I Wore Wings

    Though I wish the destination could be reached in flight —
    to wear a pair of wings and dive into the sky —
    would it be as joyous, would it still be your cherished happiness, any more?

  • No Tomorrow

    No expectations —
    I am simply drowning myself in something known or unknown;
    no complaints —
    I am ruining, or running, just my own way. No dreams on hold;
    I am living, or living for them, every day. I say there is no tomorrow, for there is no part of me apart —
    I love this life like this, too varied to live, and to pass through here.

  • The Limit Is the Endless Sky

    Let me fly, and swing along the line;
    hold me tight, or I’ll say goodbye. Catch me slyly, or I am the master of the sky;
    give me hope, and let the air carry me —
    I know my heights, but the limit is the endless sky.