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






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


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