~ the last question.

will i find myself 
at your doorstep again?
will i drag myself
always almost falling asleep
smell the daffodils growing
in spurts and silly shrubs
next to your sunny sidewalk
no honeybees here - 
just the way i've liked it
and just the way you have, too?
will i slow time
to spend a few more moments with you?
i should, and i must;
will we hum our favourite songs
turn the dial up on the radio
listen to the crackling sounds?
now, will we
laugh perhaps rather derisively
because both of us know
all this will never happen - 
let us retreat to our caves
spill ink and stain our fingers
writing late into the dark 
and dreary night,
separated by distance;
united by our words.

~ vruta gupte, october 2017.

Separation.

A differential distance slyly separates 

The dark day from the nimble night

The ocean from the sky

The shivering sun from the monstrous moon

The nest from the branch

The writer from the pen

The nocturne from the canvas

The black bracelet from the wrist

The henna from the palm

The dancer from the stage

The musician from the flute

And me from you.

~ Vruta Gupte, 2017.

Slaves.

Slaves

We are all slaves, such slaves!
Slaves of the people we love,
And who act a certain way,
Not knowing they hurt us,
Because they don't care.
We are slaves, for we do not see any good
In trying to right their wrongs,
For we know their plates are full
With sin,
And if we make them aware
They will say something worse
Than what they already had,
And we are slaves, we are afraid
That we might bring upon them misfortune
And so we keep quiet
Not daring to utter a word
Held back by fear, helplessness,
And love.
Such slaves!

~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.

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!

Stars In The Sky (Spontaneous Poem)

STARS IN THE SKY

There was a boy;
He went home and asked his friend,
"Why can I not see the stars in the sky?"
To which his friend replied,
"Oh, it depends if you really want to look at them,
And not just see them, that's why."

And then the boy;
He asked his teacher,
"Teacher, why can I not see the stars in the sky?"
And the teacher, smiling, replied,
"Maybe because the sun is shining already,
In all his glory, dear, that's why."

This curious boy,
He asked his mother,
"Mum, why can't I look at the stars in the sky?"
And what did his mother say?

She said nothing.

She took him, unaware,
To the attic, instead.
Blew the dust off the glass and sat upon the bed.
And she pointed with her finger,
And the boy jumped for joy--
He had finally seen beautiful stars in the sky!

~Vruta Gupte.

Thoughts About Silence

I was thinking....about silence....and came up with this.  I wouldn't say it's a poem--just a series of thoughts that occurred to me when I sat down in front of a blank screen...to write.



Why are we complaining about not feeling quiet when we can easily find the silence inside ourselves?

Why are we blaming everybody else when we know nobody will be able to help us find our true silence (because each individual's silence is of a different kind)?

Why does creation--a largely dynamic, fluctuating action--rely so much on being alone and silencing the buzz inside your mind?

What thought process of ours limits us to the noise of the outside world and keeps us from finding our true selves?

Noise is necessary if you want to know silence--just like you have to know what darkness is if you want to see the light--but most of us seem to think otherwise.

Why is there a common misconception that silence means stagnation and not progress or contentment?  

Are we afraid of silence?

These might appear somewhat deep, but, really, they're just thoughts....that might make a difference.

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!

What Happened At Midnight

This is a poem I wrote last December...at midnight.  (Yes, how surprising.)

WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT?

It was midnight

And I could not sleep.

So I sat up in my bed

And rubbed my eyes.

I could see elves outside my window,

Flying on Santa’s reindeers,

With gifts wrapped in white-and-blue paper

And shimmering bows,

Houses of candies

And a palace of chocolate and bubblegum

That had no windows.

The air was filled with

The sugary smell of

Waffles in syrup

And caramel pieces

In whipped cream.

And then my sleeping mind

Woke up

And I realized

It had all been just a dream.

But who ever said

That dreams cannot be real?

 - Vruta Gupte

See y'all on the next post!

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!