~ imposter.

Alone on the roads
Silent night
All the streetlights
Flickering, all the crickets chirping
Unsteady steps -
Nobody notices
Maybe I'm
Invisible? Or perhaps
Nobody cares enough
To tell me I'm walking very-fast-the-wrong-way
If-I-walk-fast-enough-maybe-I'll-reach-somewhere
Even if it is only
Back where I came from, again.
Belief is
A dangerous thing
Belief is
Making yourself think
The waterfall is going up
When you're the one
Falling down.
To think!
I could've made it -
To think -
If only I hadn't faltered -
To think:
If only I would've stopped and looked around!
I could have gone where everyone else is going
Would've reached up to the tallest Ferris wheels
Instead of back down in the dumps;
Maybe I should just remember
Ferris wheels...don't stay up
Forever
But will the time in between
Be enough for me to reach
Before the last ticket for my ride is sold?
What if I
Am willing to pay a higher price?
Will they listen? What if I
Pack my bags and go somewhere
Nobody has gone before
Then I won't feel like an
Imposter anymore.

~ Vruta, November 2017.

~ i live inside my head too much.

i live inside my head too much--
it's almost like a game;
my friend said if i want to live
that i must learn to tame

i live inside my head too much--
today i did go shopping
think i had too much to drink;
saw a rabbit humming Chopin

i live inside my head too much--
the rabbit took out his gun
he had a sly grin upon his face
and madness second to none;

slung the gun o'er his shoulder
and, somewhat shakily, took aim
pointed it at me, i said, 'oh, here come
my fifteen seconds of fame,'

here it is i shall die, i thought,
it'll be in tomorrow's paper,
a splat of red, and i'll be dead,
and the rabbit--he's mad--shall caper.

a flash! and a bang! gunpowder
decorating the dusty air,
flecks of gray amidst flecks of golden
the rabbit's crime now lay bare

no help arrived (t'was a deserted town,
now, save for the rabbit and me)
the mad eyes squinted into my own,
while i prayed to the powers that be

alas! my time had come too soon,
said the poet inside me, quivering,
one last penny i could have made
could have sold this one for a shilling--

i don't live inside my head, anymore.

~ vruta gupte.

Inspiration.

Days pass by
My pen has dried up
My papers are crumpled
My mind is caged
Words no longer flow freely
My thoughts battle with themselves
In the dark abyss of self doubt
The perfume no longer smells of fresh roses
And new beginnings
My step is no longer sprightly
My glasses are cracked and bent and broken
In dreams I find no salvation
In sleep no rejuvenation
In wakefulness no direction
A candle burning from both ends
Can light up only for a few moments
Until it dies, its glory short lived and transitory
The candle burns my papers
My house, my world, and my mind
A shadow of the person I could have been
In the end, a great light will be cast upon me
My worth shall be judged
I hope then that the ashes of my papers
The ink of my pen
Will have endured the incessant callings
Of mortality and temporariness
So that I shall be redeemed
So that I can spend the rest of my days
As a slave to ink and the stories it holds.

~ Vruta Gupte.

Static.

Staring, unseeing
Off into space
No care in the world
Far away, a flutter
Of a butterfly’s wing,
Harmonics bounce off 
The walls, rise up
Like smoke from the sea
A glass of pink lemonade
Shatters, and shards
Eclipse shadows and refine sunlight
To paint colours onto the grey walls
And reflect onto the television
But the television is blank,
The sounds, wordless; far away,
An accordion falls, breaks, its owner
Had stolen it from a musician
When he fled through
A dark alley, five years ago
Its notes are dead now, much like
The flower that fell 
Outside my window.  Far away,
Rays of sunlight stream through curtains,
Nobody is there to watch the stardust, though:
Everyone was too busy in their own contrived bubbles
To notice all the beautiful things, and they
Went on and on with their mundanities, until
One day, the roses all die, the butterflies do, too,
The accordion lies buried beneath
A pile of sooty blankets,
The curtains are drawn,
And the television flaunts only
Static.

Blackdust.

BLACKDUST.

Darkness,

Black.

Unyielding.

Look around,

What do you see?

No floodlights

To save you this time

As you put your hand

Out over the edge of

The cliff; no candles

To burn the letters from me

You wish to hide.

No mist to

Lose yourself in,

Vanish, with a

Flourish of your cape, from

Time.

There is nothing

You can lean on,

Nothing to

Set you free;

No clouds to scream at,

No storms but 

The one within yourself, are you

Sure you will not listen

To me?  I will tell you tales

Of a land not far away from

Here, that you will go to one day—so

Keep walking, even if there are

No floodlights

To save you this time

No candles 

To burn my letters

No mist

To hide away in;

A land where you can wish

For the orange sunrise and you will see it,

You can wish for yellow cornfields and 

Run past them 

You can build your own

House in the sunlight,

You can rub your eyes in the morning, and say,

“I have arrived,”

Go on, my friend, there are

Many doors you have not yet opened,

Many people you have not met,

Many things you have not seen;

There is far more to life, far more to

Believing

Than this moment in Time when you

Want to run away

From this smoke in the air that you

Would rather not breathe,

You must lead—for only

Then I will follow you

Out of the dust and 

Into space; finally

We will be free.

~Vruta Gupte (2016).

Coal Tar.

Image Source: dreamstime.com

Coal Tar.

Pitch black.
Blended darkness.
Secrets smouldering
In burning velvet
Lost forever
To the graying silvered
Ashes of time.
Rainclouds storming
Through the sky;
Thunder after,
Silence, deafening.
They forgot
The calming rays of
Sunlight everlasting,
The morning dew on the cut grass

The crisp smell of the wet earth,
As everybody forgets
There is dawn after darkness,
And darkness after light,
So there is peace after war,
And war after peace;
Words that have been said
Cannot be taken back:
Like burnt coal in the hearth
They leave scars on the hearts
Of people who once believed
That everything would turn out fine
They forget
The laws of nature
Pertain to all beings
And while their days away
In glorious despair
As the future runs its course
Without want of consultation.

~Vruta Gupte.

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
Hands
We have to save our oxygen tanks
And the spaceship
We have to save the ISS
Before they take it away
Forever
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.

Twelve.

I found this today. 

Midnight is fascinating.

The Ostrich Who Could Fly

Hello, everyone!  I'm writing a blog post after an unusually long time.
I wrote a poem; I hope y'all like it! 


The Ostrich Who Could Fly

Once as I was walking
Across a barren land,
I chanced upon an ostrich
With his head half in the sand.

I stopped awhile, listened closely,
The ostrich was now weeping
I asked him what was wrong;
He didn't answer; silence creeping.

He straightened his long neck,
And pointed to the sky
I craned my neck to see and I saw
Ostriches that could fly.

Tears were running down his cheeks,
I asked him,"Didn't you try?"
"I did," he said, his voice cracking,
"I s'pose I'm not meant to fly."

"Try a thousand times," I said,
"You'll fly eventually, you'll see,
Just because you couldn't fly then
Doesn't mean that's all you can be."

The ostrich nodded, wiped his tears,
I left him to his devices,
Life's too short to be bogged down
By these insignificant crises.

A few months later, I walked again
Across that barren land,
I'd forgotten all about
The ostrich in the sand.

But then I saw a shadow
On the ground ahead of me
And I remembered the ostrich
Who had wanted to be free.

I looked up, and there he was
Soaring gracefully through the air
I smiled to myself, and realized
Life really isn't unfair.

~Vruta Gupte.

P.S. I've added Disqus comments on here (only people who are viewing this on their computers will be able to see it, but if you're using a cellphone, you can still comment using the default Blogger comment box.)  

If you want to check out more of my writing, please click here. Thank you! 

Two-Word Poem #2

My second two-word poem. I'm a fan of these; so much can be said in just two words.
It's what you don't say that matters in this kind of poetry more than what you do say. The rest is up to the imagination of the reader.

“She laughed."

Two-Word Poem #1

Two-word poems are actually quite elegant.
Here's my first one.

“If Only."

If you liked it, please leave a comment below or go to the “My Own Writing" for more of my poems. Thank you!

Modern Breakup Story.

The Perks Of A Not-So-Smart Phone

Still waiting.
Ping, ping.
Unlocked screen.
I saw another name.
I locked it again.
I sent a message five minutes ago.
You'd replied to the message I sent before that.
But you'd read this one.
And you hadn't replied yet.
You kept me waiting.
I shouldn't have enabled the ‘send read report' option.
But now it's grayed out and I can't do anything but wait.
Such a calamity.
Still waiting.

~ Vruta Gupte.

The Plight of the Underling

An original poem in two pictures.  Pretty neat, eh?  (This is the original and only copy of the poem.  Please comment or notify me if the pictures aren't clear--thank you!)

P.S. I've added Disqus comments on here (only people who are viewing this on their computers will be able to see it, but if you're using a cellphone, you can still comment using the default Blogger comment box.)  Thank you! 

~ Vruta Gupte.

Walks.

Walks

Why do I have to walk as fast as you do?
Why do you want me to walk with you?
Why can't we just walk in silence?
Why should I walk behind you if a bike's in our way, looking to avoid a speed breaker?
Why can't the bike just go over it instead?
Why am I the one who gets out of the way every time?
Why am I walking so fast?
Slow down....
You're walking, for Pete's sake.
You say brisk walking is good for your health, but brisk walking is just going to elevate your blood pressure,
Compared to slow walking.
Since when did walking have to be an exercise?
Couldn't it be just....another time to get to know yourself?
Couldn't it be just walking?
Why do you seek to complicate even the simplest of things?
It's just walking.
Just walk.

~Vruta Gupte.

Being Lost.

I've given myself a challenge.

It's called 'The Write a Free-verse Poem in Three Minutes Challenge'.

So here goes.  (I'm writing this poem like I wrote 'Stars in the Sky': spontaneously.)

Being Lost.

The little girl
Wearing a red dress
With yellow polka-dots
And blue ribbons
Went for a walk 
On the dirt road
Leading into the forest
Where she saw a lake
That she couldn't cross
So she sat there on the shore
She sat there for a thousand years
The immortal girl cries immortal tears
Her tears flow into the lake
The lake gets bigger and bigger
And scarier and darker
Until it goes full circle around the girl
Immortal girl with immortal curls
Swirling violently
To sink a ship
To sink a ship of immortality
She shudders and takes a deep breath
And falls asleep on the small island
The small island that is now her land
Two hundred years later
The lake has dried up
But the immortal girl
With her immortal tears
With her immortal curls
And her immortal fears
Is nowhere to be found.

~Vruta Gupte.

Extra Short Poems #1

Hey guys,

This is one of my extra short poems (as is evident from the title, heh).

Drawing

And I couldn't draw a straight line for the life of me,
Even if you'd pinned me up against a tree
And I don't know what to do now,
Maybe I'll eat mein Chow.

~ Vruta Gupte.

P.S. If you set this to jazz music, it'll sound better, because that's how I imagined it.

I'm kidding; imagine it however you like.

P.P.S. Is the semicolon obsolete yet? Oh, no, it isn't; good.

P.P.P.S Want to read more of my writing? Click here!

I've added Disqus comments on here.  Please click on the time-stamp near the end of the post to comment.  (If you don't have a Disqus account, you can still comment as a guest with a custom name.) Thank you!

Finalé

Here is a poem I completed in the morning.  I don't quite understand why I wrote it.

FINALÉ

Long, winding path

Endless—black light

Shows the way

To lost travellers

Who never make it home

Their names are inscribed into a wax tablet;

Some die

Some lose their souls

Some are born again—into darkness.

The destiny of each being

Is written in the stars

That are pasted onto the walls

Of the tunnel that is the dark forest.

Some say that at the end of the tunnel

There lives a beast; he thirsts only for the knowledge

That the lonesome travellers have acquired

In their quest to travel

The road less taken:

For these travellers believe they are wise

And that light comes after darkness

But there are always exceptions to the rule.

Sometimes there is not light

At the end of the tunnel—

But eternal darkness

And that is where those who choose

The dark path must go.

It is their destiny.

It is where all ends.

It is the finalé.

—Vruta Gupte.

(Gee, I never knew I could write dark poems--in both a literal and metaphorical sense.)

See you on the next post!  Cheers!  (As much as is possible after reading that poem.  Just kidding.)






Want to check out more of my writing?  Click here!

P.S. I've added Disqus comments on here.  Please click on the time-stamp near the end of the post to comment.  (If you don't have a Disqus account, you can still comment as a guest with a custom name.) Thank you!