Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Paper Boat.

Image Credits:

When I was smaller,
I would go out and play
In the rain, with a
Small boat of paper
I would make myself.
I still remember
How I used to call my friends out
Whenever we heard the tap
Of raindrops against the window;
"Make a wish," they would say,
So I would.
Then I would set my paper person
Inside my paper boat
And hope
That my paper person would go
To see far-off lands,
As I watched my paper boat
Sail away, past
The weeds and the rabbit-holes,
The rain and my troubles would melt,
With a beautiful paper rainbow taking their place.

~Vruta Gupte.

Wednesday, 15 April 2015

Wide Awake.

Corpuscles of light flying
From our laser guns
As we fire
At the invading aliens
Stuck in space
Gliding untethered
Towards a ball of rain
It looks like fire, red sand
Houston, there's still a problem
But it's not one we can fix
I realize as they cut off
Our communication systems
That they never meant
To keep us alive
We are
Just puppets
In their extraordinarily advanced
We have to save our oxygen tanks
And the spaceship
We have to save the ISS
Before they take it away
They stop us
They never meant to let us go
Houston, they are coming.
It is only when we are threatened
With the possibility of
Eternal sleep
That we are
Wide awake.

~Vruta Gupte.

Sunday, 12 April 2015


Are we here
In this city
With its big, sparkly, neon
When we could be
Underneath the stars
And the quiet moon
Do we measure
Time, if it only serves
To destroy us
It will deal cards of misery
If we do not use it
The way the others are
We are delusional, thinking watches
Are more important than our lives
Must we ridicule
If we are imperfect
And if each
Is perfect within himself
To a fault
Do we concentrate on what could
Have been
Instead of what is
But reality is too hurtful, too
Intense for our liking
Which is
We live in our dream worlds,
Wondering when this world
Will take notice of us, which is
It is strange 
That we have come so far
It is strange 
That we are not yet numb
It is strange
That we have still hope
It is strange
That we have been through
So much, even though it is
Insignificant in the scale of the universe
It is strange
How we believe the universe
Cannot exist without an observer
We are so naïve, and yet
So wise
It is strange
How our lives are so fraught with suffering
But when we die, we remember only the good parts
Do we think we are strange
We are human.

~Vruta Gupte.

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~ migration.

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