We’re Taking the Bus Tonight

No sunsets, no clear dawns
A kneeling sky, an empty lawn.
The moon, a shade of lonely grey,
Hundred children, nothing to play.
Every morning, we wake up to plight,
So we’re taking the bus tonight.

There’s an ocean, but no water
There’s a mother, but no daughter
A nest where no bird resides
A beach where no waves collide
But all gloom will run out of sight,
When we take the bus tonight.

We eat the food, we do not cook,
We run through streets, we do not look.
We laugh a lot, we smile a little,
We cry seldom with hearts so brittle,
But the mind is strong, brave if you’d like,
Mountains, rivers, look alike.
The rain comes in big drops,
We chase the cars in flip flops,
No one could now slash our kites,
Because we’re taking the bus tonight.

Broken Mirror

Love, they say is quite eternal,

Living in monuments, and cemeteries

What they say is quite fraternal

Breathing life in dead weeds

Love, they say, is an ocean of pain,

Hurdles breaking lovers apart

What they say is quite insane

It’s something that, plunders the heart

Love, they say, is a peaceful myth,

Those who believe, seldom cry,

What they say is quite a fit,

Of the beautiful hearts in which it lies.

Love, they say, is a sad nightmare

Where broken things pour down like rain,

What they say is quite a prayer

For its a nightmare you would want again.

Love, I say, is a broken mirror,

Dried up tears, a fallen tree,

What I say is quite clear,

It’s one thing that consumes me.

 

Who are you loyal to?

I am loyal to me,

Loyal to what I want to be.

My dreams heave,

And I do believe,

That they are as true as the sun,

Each will come true one by one.

I am loyal to my hopes,

For they help me cope,

Loyal to all the lessons I’ve received,

To the moments I’ve laughed and moments I’ve grieved.

Loyal to my beliefs, virtue, and values,

Loyal to the person who is in my shoes.

Being true towards yourself is all you have to do,

I must be loyal to myself, before being loyal to you.

 

Brooklyn Bridge

How many people did you meet?

How many elbows did you greet?

Thousand faces, two thousand feet

Jumping, skipping, arrival, retreat

Devices in hand, pictures so neat

Shutters go click, poses repeat

A hundred faces clicked in a heartbeat

The cycling lane go full-on heat,

Lovers make memories sweet

Toddlers walking in steps petite

Schoolgirls swarming in a fleet

Standing still is obsolete

Movement is the only treat

So much clamor, noise replete  

My poem, with this scheme, I won’t complete,

Because I was just there to see the sunset.

 

 

© 2018 Anusha Gupta and The Poetic Trance.

Falling Leaf

Have you ever seen a falling leaf?
Leaving its hold from the eternal tree,
Moving away from the joys and sorrows,
The life and decay of the family?

It grows old and loses its lush,
Loses the ability to help and serve,
No more green, no more stiff,
Just a little anchor to weigh down the tree.

Green veins turn brown,
No more dew adorns its face.
A life already lived,
A death impending,
As the leaf makes its way.

Don’t ‘be happy’

I won’t say ‘be happy!’
For it may sound vague
But don’t miss the sunrise
Or the peaceful morning haze

You can walk bare on grass
And try the swings too
Watch the children laugh away
Pick up a book or two

Maybe you can trudge in the rain
Find a breeze on a hot day
Sow some seeds at insane places
Smile at a stranger hustling away

You can pray
You can lay
Eyes closed
Heart awake

Run, paddle, keep moving
Binge on chocolates to your soul’s delight
I won’t say ‘be happy’
But don’t miss the stars at night

For the countless many, who have stopped believing in happiness

 

© 2018 Anusha Gupta and The Poetic Trance

Aurora

It takes grueling strength,
To surround yourself with snow,
And still start a fire in your soul.
A penetrating cold,
Covers your bones,
But still keep spring alive in heart.
Only after you’ve paid,
Only after you’ve drained,
Do you grasp the Aurora.
A mixture of hues, we have never known,
Something much more than mere beauty.

For the gardener, Aurora is the plant,
That blooms on its deathbed.
For a beggar, it is a grateful meal.
For an artist, it is a masterpiece.
For a tired player, Aurora is the honorable medal.

You only get this wonder,
After a nasty brawl,
If it doesn’t take all you have,
Is it Aurora at all?

What’s your Aurora?

© 2018 Anusha Gupta and The Poetic Trance.