the sultry sunny  morning
glistens from her face
as she trudges along slowly
with a gazelle- like grace

and her eyes that shine cerulean blue
almost hypnotize guests like me
and i am drawn daily to her
like a flower to a honey bee

she sparkles with all her might
smiles twinkling across wavy hues
and she dances in all colors bright
as mischievous thoughts inwards brew

the sun stares too mystified
for the moment can’t linger longer
and drowns down the horizon
into her cool and calm slumber.

-Akanksha Gupta



i looked so i saw
i heard so i listened
i ate so i tasted
but numbness hung still


a chair moved
a chair squeaked
a desk drummed
but numbness hung still


his face was withered
and white as a sheet
he spoke not
oh! numbness hung still


and he uttered
no words came out
throat damp yet parched
oh! numbness hung still


a tear fell down
soundless was the sound
that wet his cheeks
as, numbness hung still


words came through,
And broke the silent air
t’was about his father then
so, numbness hung still.
-Akanksha Gupta


once a year we celebrate
the glory of the past
with lights, diyas and candles
oh some crackalacking blasts
dhanteras is day one
spent in malls and marts
and naraka chaturdasi
is when the poojan starts
then comes amavasya
paying homage to the lasts
and kartika shudda padyami
oh some crackalacking blasts
sweets are for the standoffish
and games for the fainthearts
laughter for the lugubrious
and lighting for the belle-arts
but for the fiery fiends
burning in ageless enthusiasts
its more than a nightly fest
oh some crackalacking blasts
-Akanksha Gupta
ps: i know it’s a little out of time


A drizzle of blood
from the skies burst
touched his lips
and quenched his thirst
Was he a vampire,
a zombie, a poltergeist
Satan, phantom
banshee, extortionist?
who sucked innocent blood
and wet his throat
to inspire men
with hate and loath
His bombs, missiles and gun barrels
vanished cities with  blast
and the eyes of each city shone
with the ghosts of its past
Each man, each woman,
each child of every faith
vowed to strike back
and avenge their death
And at last as though heavens raged
in silence with interminable zest
in secrecy they sent him where
no man in peace does ever rest
Is this the emotion that oozes
when you hear his name
forgetting latent virtues
in sheer disdain
how many of you agree to that
upon which the poem insists
I may, I may not, but
isn’t there a heart in every terrorist?
they say probably not
-Akanksha Gupta