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Standing still is obsolete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


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.

A Potted Plant

Spring comes with its own air,
Filling the Earth with life and flair.
In my garden, a potted seed awaited its birth,
Just like many others, to adorn the Earth.

And soon enough, a little leaf, opened its eyes
What birth-giving magic in the soil hides?
Then came others, celebrating their birthday,
Aspiring in their minds, to become a big plant one day.

They had their meals and drank good water,
And grew into a plant, no longer shorter.
Then came a bud, and another,
The plant watched them bloom like a proud mother.

If ever, you’ve known beauty, the plant was much more than that,
Young and green, on nutritional soil it sat,
One day a bird came panting and sour,
The plant her to sit in her home, as she’d come from far.

They talked a little, first a bit shy,
Then no day passed when the bird didn’t stop by.
She built a little home in the pot,
For the plant and the bird liked each other a lot.

One day she came and sat for long,
Gave an egg and life along.
I saw the little wonder and thought it’ll die,
If I pour in water, it will never touch the sky.

The plant was brave, said she was fine
But she withered and aged, before her time.
Few leaves stopped breathing as the egg did thrive,
And the love for it kept the plant alive.

One day the egg, cracked up in life,
As though the plant had actually revived,
And as the home lit up by the baby’s sound,
The last leaf of the plant touched the ground.

© 2018 Anusha Gupta and The Poetic Trance.