Abhey Gupta

Tag: Society

  • Shore of Night

    Stop by the sea of rush,
    and listen to the crying at the shore;
    you’ll find a hundred of yourself there —
    but not one of them with another.

  • Come to Go

    The dream sleeps with the dawn,
    and when nostalgia grips the soul at the day’s end,
    when the world rejoices in the pain of being someone in disguise,
    I find myself in the past of time.

    When, at the shelter of love, they grow hate —
    mania and garishness are their intake;
    though surrendering to the darkness all around,
    all alone, I ship my way.

    People come, and go away,
    just like another season of a year;
    with the change, they drift away,
    but I look on, silently, at everything, like every day.

    When they shout at the fool of a day,
    I wonder who is the better one of the day;
    the same interests, so many others —
    but all of it, when I come, only to go away…

  • 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.

  • As I Grow

    Once, I played with toys;
    now I am a toy for others.
    I loved diving into the mud;
    now I am scared of every colour.

    Life was as easy as a video game —
    and all I do now is cry;
    I lost more of myself as I grew up.

    It was all parties and joy;
    now it all shows the odds against you.
    The sleepless night before the day of the trip
    turned to sleeplessness in anger and agony.

    Laughter had no other reason; no —
    a crying devil before every fake smile.
    Hardest, once, was working hard —
    then it became working hard just to die.

    Every day was once another smile.
    I always knew the world had different faces,
    but it was never such a heavy thought
    as it is now, as I grow up.

  • 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.

  • Crowd Has Many Faces

    I am someone’s lover,
    and bereft of another;
    I am a teller of truth,
    and an edge of sham.

    I am a crowd of people,
    yet aware of none;
    I am a dream to people,
    and a nightmare to the lonely.

    I am a hunger and a sorrow,
    starving for my desires;
    I am a hope and an agony,
    and the pretender of life.

    I am the part of a few mornings,
    but in lieu of some mourning;
    I renounce the grimaces —
    yet still, the crowd has many faces.

  • He Breaks Me

    So blindly we move to act,
    and so did I —
    chasing a fleeting comfort,
    slipping, somehow, into the dark.

    It preys upon my ruin,
    leaving wounds that never close;
    I scream, I cry, I beg for help,
    but it tears me down, again and again.

    I run from him, undone,
    a crowd gathers to watch — never to help —
    and he breaks me, again and again.

    And it is never only once:
    I live it every single day —
    that face, watching me, merciless,
    while I, helpless as ever, go numb and weep.

    Facing him, again and again,
    he laughs at every tear;
    the more I break, the more he revels,
    as he draws the very life out of me.

    He plays it out; I go numb just hearing it.
    He fills my veins with his poison,
    and now I lean on him to save me —
    the one who ruins me… will he ever help?

    So strange this world is,
    so artificial, all of them;
    some have hidden from their own sanity —
    cowards, every one.
    And I…

  • 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.

  • World He Left Behind

    As a child, he was free—
    free to speak, to laugh, to do as he pleased.
    As a child, he had a way
    of hiding, of losing himself in a dream.

    Pain, sorrow, and hurt
    were nowhere along his path.
    Tears still came, and often—
    but not from helplessness, as they do now.

    Anger was never a friend of his;
    now he cannot live without it.
    He was once immune to jealousy;
    now he is a patient of it.

    Logical or illogical,
    he never used to care—
    now, time and again, he must ask:
    am I even right enough to cope?

    Isn’t he lost in this vast world,
    where only the hunger for money is left to feel?
    He owns everything he has—
    but for that, he sold his soul.

    His eyes speak every word
    he cannot say: he longs to fly free.
    No one sees how alone he is,
    fallen so low, as if he were the only one.

    But fiercely he vows
    he will not break, will not cry anymore;
    he will face it all alone.
    And drawing a single breath, he left—

    with one ray of light
    to find the world he had lost,
    and build a world of his own,
    living inside a dream
    to find the world he left behind.