Abhey Gupta

Tag: Meaning

  • Ray in the Midst of Rain

    With the shadow of light,
    and the darkness disappearing into the light of belief;
    in the shadow of the new, old memories take their places —
    and in the memory of a gloomy loss, aren’t we losing the world of today?

  • Time Warp

    Thee — the endless times,
    and the weave of beads through time;
    scarlet in the virgin sky,
    and the stars shooting high above —
    though it is the breeding trap.

  • Trembling a Life

    My eyes stop at the passage of time,
    but all they perceive is a pushing, all around;
    everyone is moving somewhere,
    but nobody knows where, or why.

    I try to deny the lie
    that I am just another part of this life —
    but the thoughts answer back again:
    everyone is trying to deal with the same.

    Holding a tail of fire,
    they fail in their tries to cool the pain;
    they try to live their way —
    but this is not the far-off battle of life.

    I glance at the sky,
    and wonder what the driver of the sky wants;
    dust in every eye, all around,
    yet they shout out the lies of their rightness.

    Everything passes by,
    until only this hazy world remains;
    I stop myself at that point,
    and linger, wondering at this life.

  • 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.

  • 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?

  • Across the Street

    We are trying every way to reach,
    a new day starting with a shadow of cloud;
    rushing to the end of the planet, but dispersed
    off the life living across the street.

    We are flying high, with fear nearby,
    and like every time, time flees;
    but little do we care, and less we look —
    and it builds a sea across the street.

    Are we blind, or just insecure?
    Or are we building a planet of floors?
    A few more takes, and the end is there —
    still so far, from across the street.

    We are trapped behind the ego,
    living life on the stage of a show;
    colours are lost into shades of darkness,
    and we cry alone, across the street.

  • A Game of Risk

    Though everything is close to me, I am at the farthest place of my own;
    though things are happy, reality is something I have learned to cherish. The constant struggle just to survive is a disguise —
    of being made a victim by your own will. But life is only a game of risk.

  • Different Every Time

    When I look at it from above, it looks one way;
    when I look from below, it looks another. And all I understand is this: it is all about life —
    and it is different every time.

  • 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?