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

Fortunately

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

In this mad mad world

When I stand on the precipice

I let down my hair

Wind swept it literally

And I ain’t no Shakespeare

Yet bemused I can be

By the high and the low

The dramas of a society

I ain’t no Sherlock Holmes

But can observe clearly

Past the facade of warmth

The stark reality

And I’m no solitary loon

But when its just you and me

Alone in our solitude

They may say I’m-a crazy

But after a dose of rush

That defines a modern city

I need a moment to myself

In your undemanding company

– Akanksha Gupta

There in the forests deep, dark and sultry

Each and every wispy and sonorous sound

Echoes unbidden the haunting melodies

Of the dead and undead creatures abound

 –

As such; lofty sprites and sky larks prance

Their lithe forms spin gracefully in the air

In a harmonious glorious symphony

Effortlessly, and simply without a care

 –

It is fuel for the soul; It is

The unadulterated passion in their eyes

It is, the palpable emotion in the air

It is, the unmistakable fervor in their voice

That adds to the mystery of legs tapping,

Of adrenaline pumping and hearts thumping ­

To the rhythm of a limitless range that

Can be stretched without screeching or limping

They are crafty strings plucked up with courage

The dainty keys pressed into a tune filled air

The addictive pipes that sway with the wind

The masks that burn with a whipping severe

 –

But music oh what music t’was then

It saw, came and conquered my all

Imprinted the beats, the tune, the pitch

It made me feel one with the world

-Akanksha Gupta

Plush red sofa chairs

As comfy as the midnight sun

I freely sit

Its a cold cold world

And in the night

My solitude

I find, a semblance of reality

That wakes me up

Leaves me feeling cold

And outside the window

All I see

What little is left of humanity

Up in embers of smoke

And yet I see through them

The twinkling stars and the shining moon

Beckoning me to a world

Full of flighty delights

And unkempt avarice

My heart stops at once

And melodramatically thumps

Swirling with platitudes

Of suppressed emotions

But I-

I close my eyes

Swipe the touchscreen

Plastering a humble smile

Of utter gratitude

That if I didn’t know me

More than I know you

I think I could convince

My very conscience

And in all honesty can I say

At the end

Of this very painful everyday

“Dear me, I rue,

In this big bad world

How long would I stay

Honest with you too?”

–  Akanksha Gupta