I was sinking with every second,
darkness was all I breathed in;
I had been weakened by her strength,
but I did not quit… I am still wandering.
It is growing darker, yes,
yet still I can see her eyes
staring back at me — and I do not quit.
Spoken, and wide open,
all that I was, I did not know;
somehow I received her,
my eyes brimming — but I did not quit.
I am waiting all along my way,
to have, to hold, one day;
I will keep waiting for years,
because I do not quit.
It’s 2010 — a new year — and what I’m about to publish is simply a reminiscence of the last one, written in the hope that I can learn from it and live this year more fully.
Last year, I was good to many and bad to most — sad, but true. And the first name I count among them is my own.
Yes — I said me. We can be good to anyone we meet, but not until we are good to ourselves. We keep trying to pretend to be what we are not; our inner self reflects who we truly are, and I spent the whole year pretending to be what others wanted me to be.
Still, I’ll remember 2009 as a memorable year. You must be wondering why — because I lived through so much good and bad in it. January, the beginning of the year, fortunately brought some good my way; but instead of simply celebrating it, I began demanding more, and slipped into a circle of suffering.
But as I always say, “Bad brings better for you” — and I try to follow that.
Thank you, friends, for being so wonderful to me.
— Abhay Gupta
We come nearest to the great when we are great in humility.
Rabindranath Tagore
ना जाने क्यों भीड़ कुछ ज़्यादा है!
मैं खो न जाऊँ इसमें कहीं!
जब हम भी अनसुना करते थे —
आज हम भी हुए, तो ऐसा क्या है!
ना जाने इस बार क्या ख़ास बात है…
अकेले-से दिख रहे हैं चेहरे कई,
कुछ कह रहे हैं, लेकिन कई कुछ नहीं;
लगता है, भीड़ की तन्हाई ही ऐसी है।
ना जाने क्यों भीड़ कुछ ज़्यादा है;
सोचता हूँ, मैं भी भीड़ ही बन जाऊँ —
अपने जाने-पहचाने कुछ चेहरे थे,
बेगानी-सी भीड़ में छुपे हैं, वो भी।
ना जाने इसमें क्या बात है —
भीड़ में खोए हम, तब भी कुछ याद है;
भूले नहीं जिसे हम कभी भी,
वही हमारी तन्हाई की याद है।
ना जाने क्यों भीड़ कुछ ज़्यादा है;
हैं इस इंतज़ार में हम भी, मगर —
शायद कोई पुकारे भीड़ से हमें,
तोड़े ये पल-पल मारता अँधेरा।
I see so much in a still face —
sometimes lost, sometimes struggling for a way;
they hold a secret sadness, every face,
and seem, especially, to be looking for a way to cry.
I feel it when I see a downcast face:
it is losing its joy with every hurt,
painting over a memory of every phase,
hiding itself behind every fake.
I speak to every downcast face —
not with words, but with a glance.
I hesitate to face that estate,
because I lack the ease to move at that free pace.
But I am in love with one face —
unknown to me, yet a dream, I say;
struggling to find it, in any case,
and leaving it a choice to make my fate.
He stares out through the window,
a stranger groaning, alone, outside;
a sight of something wrong reaches him,
and he no longer looks beyond.
Thinking, over and over, far away,
the source of his thoughts perplexes him —
guessing what might become of the stranger,
he is whirled into his own world of grief.
He realizes his own misdeeds,
the bad words he so often spoke,
and comes back, full circle, to belief;
obsession had once held its power over him.
He looks outside once more, estranged,
and this time his gaze finds the moon —
alone, shining, giving light to others,
holding so much, yet so little vanity.
It never asks for anything; it has its own.
And feeling how small his pain is
beside that quiet, overarching light,
he stops thinking only in the verse of “me.”
He moves beyond the personal —
and he is in sadness no more.
Weaving a dream, new again,
despite the bad one I had last.
I am not afraid of this — not again —
the end unknown, like the world’s own end.
Dreaming a dream of a new end,
boundless is my soul once more,
loving a piece of every ending —
though it’s so unlikely, all I have.
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.
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.
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.
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?