Everything always is

Perfect in absentia

For no one can fault it

But in full view

Of every spectator

The inner artist

Transforms into a critic

And the plebeian admirer

Into a judgmental fascist

And the erstwhile flawlessness

Suddenly seems blasphemous

So then

Where is perfection

In anything and everything

You ask all the –ists

Say the pessimists

It doesn’t exist

Say the optimists

One day I’ll find it

Say the opportunists

Why should I want it?

Say the scientists

It is too ideal a state

Say the socialists

It’s a long road ahead

Say the realists

Waste no time

Striving for it

Yet everyone always is

In pursuit of perfection

And perfection

It is elusive…

Can it bring happiness?

No-one knows

What about poets

Like me? Like you?

Perfection we feel

Does exist

In the eyes

Of the beholder

Perfection persists

In every single act

And every single object

Where there is a flavor

Of effort and endeavor

To do the best

To be the best

And have the best

Then it’s an instance

Of pure perfection

For you can see

Within its depth

And know

Within your heart

Perfection indeed

Does exist

But the inner critic

Of all the -ists

Fail to ever discover it

We you and I

Are not –ists


Just commoners

May be that’s why

Objectively and subjectively

And also in the mirror

You and I can see

Perfection wherever

And whenever

We want it to be

– Akanksha Gupta


Every day I look at you

Are you ‘you’ or ‘me’?

The more I look the more I feel

Like drowning into thee


The ocean is too full of salt

The pond full of algae

The river neither is enough

To contain the vanity


“O Mirror, Mirror where are you”

T’is a charming irony

Those that wish to find you not

Are the ones blessed by thee


In their eyes I see myself

Reflected differently

Am I the way they look, or

The way I look, at me?


The answer is too simple

Yet they cannot see

Permanently are they blinded

Thus narcissistic-ally?


“O Mirror, Mirror on the wall

Does beauty speak of me?”

First the Queen, then Narcissus

A fairytale reality

– Akanksha Gupta


It’s a fleeting moment

When reality ceases to exist

When you can imagine

On this plane; a parallel universe

Or even absolute silence

A moment of peace indeed

Where every idiotic syllable uttered

Doesn’t go down in personal history

Of insanely stupid moments

It’s an ephemeral fulfilment

Of the innermost desires

A time to escape; a place to escape

No obstacle, no predicament, no quagmire

A moment of absolute clarity

Of great insight yet permissible peculiarity

Of simplification of complexities

Of freedom from social niceties

And a moment sans entanglements

No emotional baggage or responsibility

No delusions of grandeur

But an ambience of elegance

A moment of well-deserved


When there is no forced pretence or play,

Neither is it a judgement day

Where you can be you and I can be me

And in this warped reality

That would seem to be

 For just a fleeting moment

A means of escape

A world of you, by you, for you;

Solely built

To suit your tastes

After all everybody needs

A self-styled illusory reality

Where you have the right

At any-time in life

To be or not to be

– Akanksha Gupta