AN INCH OF TRUTH

What is this world

Foul mouth, pretence and play

Here all are clay moulds

Neigh an inch of truth or fair-play

 

The heart is a mile away

Good men sit in the devil’s lair

Mind is a Luciferian den

Not an inch of truth anywhere

 

Its a tall jungle of wild grass

Housing snakes and cobwebs

You play devil’s advocate

so delusive life or disguised death?

 

Goodwill is dwindling like forests

With police prosecuting the culpable

Pigeons are new-year’s cuckoo birds

Not an inch of truth perceivable

– Akanksha Gupta

 

 

 

A SILENT IRONY

Silence envelopes the air

Silence still surrounds

The boom of the loudspeaker

The idle chatter of the crowds

 

And speak thou to none

Let the voice inside speak

And discover inner peace

That each one of us seeks

 

But absorb thou all sounds

like the blackest of nights

And grope in the darkness

To illuminate the true sight

 

Whence golden luminescence

And not a pure white myth

For white gives all to all

But no one is perfect

 

No one can give all to all

Never can, even to subsist

Man must also be selfish

So even Dalai Lama persists

 

Selfishness and selflessness

Go hand in hand

And when you find both

T’is a peaceful land

 

In the pursuit of silence

We oft fail to see

It isn’t silence of silence

Wherein soul revels in glee

 

But silence in the noise

Which is hard to find

And harder to endure

But brings peace to the mind

–  Akanksha Gupta

AT WISDOM’S END

The mahogany wood

Standing in nature’s sprawl

Has seen many years

come, rise and fall

 

Flailing civilization

and dying men

sparkle of new dawn

he has lived through them

 

And seen a myriad

governance grin

Across the world

Of multitude nations

 

He has eavesdropped

The travellers and passers-by

Who quench the thirst

Of shade, and sigh

 

And talk of all the

Worldly selves

But eavesdroppers hear not

good of themselves

 

And so the mahogany

That has seen many years

Knows its future

to be bleak and blur

 

For men with axe

Who come to fell

Hardly came before

But their number swells

 

Standing for years

Resting against a wall

Facing saws and drills

Spitefully rise and fall

 

T’is a cruel murder

That even natural demise

Would seem to be

A blessing in disguise

 – Akanksha Gupta