Abhey Gupta

Tag: Self

  • Pastimes

    Toward there, and the way it possesses —
    spanning all my past and future,
    I walk behind a shadow of mine,
    and hope to shine one day…

    I see the end, and the start,
    having been through point to line;
    always so close to success —
    but does desire ever cease, this way?

    New hope, and old remembrance;
    an old suit, and a fake smile again;
    and I believe in yesterday,
    when expectation hangs of its own…

    Love was easy, and breath;
    but with its going, I was lost —
    in today’s end, today’s success,
    walking alone behind myself, today.

  • 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.

  • Hunger

    I look around through my doomed eyes:
    brighter than the sun, the night is now;
    I travel my memories once more,
    and find one child, waiting, counting,
    and another, counting on survival,
    who offers more happiness than mine.
    The city is filled with bulbs and sweets,
    and a melancholic mind, like mine.

    I open my arms to reach him,
    but the silence of my own stands between us;
    those gleaming, shimmering eyes, staring at me,
    leave me worthless, and full of thought.
    What is the meaning of my life, my brightness,
    when all around, in one, I see only darkness?

    I reach for my wallet, out of pity —
    but pity itself dares to hope;
    I close my eyes, and think:
    when all of this is around — but not happiness;
    those sweets, those crackers,
    waiting to burst, and to laugh,
    a day to love, a joy for one and all —
    but all day long, he goes without.

  • Inside and Outside

    It graces out the pride — the sky,
    with a glimpse of the forever past;
    and this world rejoices in pain,
    but not the one who has claimed the self.
    Take the ray, and make it a prayer,
    till it shines — outside the dark,
    inside, and outside…

  • 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.

  • Forever Smile

    She looks around, and flies away;
    out of her wings, she brings her memories;
    through a day and a night, she murmurs —
    like a walking shadow, she lives each day…

  • Height of Evening

    Silence all around,
    when the birds aren’t chirping aloud;
    I come by, then, at the time
    when you reach the height of evening.

    Utter a sincere lie,
    and lay yourself down in the town,
    where there is no one around,
    and darkness reaches the height of evening.

    You come, surrendering to the soul,
    gripped by a differential thought;
    you whisper a name, but no one knows —
    in the silence of the evening, and its height…

  • Battle Mind

    Another day, and I will shed my way;
    travellers, the innocent, are my blood’s target.
    I may live or die, but it traces out my existence —
    the secret I keep locked away, in this battle of the mind.

    Words are my sword, and sorrow my blood,
    heir of a royal bloodline, wasted in surrender;
    you may see no more death in the world,
    but the soul-ripper has its own way…

    I could never stand beneath the words of love;
    we may travel all this world alone,
    battling the present for the despair of one past,
    fuelling a battle of the mind, every second.

  • 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.

  • The Story

    Sunk under the weight of my own,
    I surrender my peace to welcome her;
    though the sky, not so distant, is burning,
    the finite is not so serene…

    Plain roads are a symbolic game:
    the closer it seems, the farther its way;
    up above, yet so dispersed within its own,
    covering an inch of the sky’s stone…

    Noisy, yet entertaining now,
    it feels like riding hell with your own;
    a hidden glory beneath the flying cloud —
    how it matters, leaving its comfort shell…

    In the full night of the dark lorry,
    the Lord walked to the fire and spelled a charm;
    and I showed my heart to you — and it was gone:
    the feelings of it, now, are what they call love and hate.