Schizophrenia

Says the spider to the fly,
“Always, always I snugly lie
In my web of truths
And now I’ve caught you too”

The fly, in kind, replies,
“I’ll find an escape route”

But on the sly, the spider laughs
“Oh you’re well and truly caught
No reason to deny
None of your elaborate plots
That run afoot
Can help you seek the way to lie”

The fly, however, self-assured
Wills the spider to watch
As it tells the truths from lies

Neither of them aware that
The spider is the fly

– Akanksha Gupta

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Echoes Past the Point of No Return

A million voices bleed in my head
Pleading for a solid coalition
But I know the quota is limited
So I stand perplexed
Resisting temptation

You see, somewhere ages and ages ago
There was another set of voices
And though, long, I stood at the crossroads
As no storm did I hear them forebode
I discriminated between neither of the choices

Thence, teetering at the end of sanity
I waited for the next interlude
Whence I shrunk my limit to unity
Choosing the voice with the greatest amity
In anticipation of a sanguine quietude

But, as I languished in the passivity of the refuge
My voice lost all its vivacity
So for the following season of vocal deluge
I chose to rebel against the complacent attitude
Which has cost me more than my sanity

Now, as I stand at dawn of the next chapter
With the voices having returned with a vengeance
I stare at my ever-growing puzzle in wonder
Uncertain of the solitary piece I must discover
That which shall make all the difference

– Akanksha Gupta

Size Zero and the Girth of Sensitivity

I sat in a pizzeria
Munching on a pizza
An Italian thin crust
Lips olive oiled
Throat margarita’ed

A lady came in sobbing
And sat by my side
I took one look
At her stricken face
And barked “Who Died”

My bark was courteous
Without a hint of snark
But as she swivelled to me
In her bare-faced incredulity
I basked

Her tear-laden face
Turned many a shade of red
Mutiny, shock and anger
Were amongst a few
That ran rampant

“Wha-What” she uttered
“How clichéd” I muttered
And raised my brows
As she indignantly
Stuttered and spluttered

She called me many a names
I’ll spare your innocent ears
And all the while
That she spoke
She forgot to pinch out tears

When I remarked
Upon this remarkable phenomenon
Her frustrated eyes
Seemed to spit fire, screaming
‘Run, you bully, run’

But I’m not a son of a gun
And therefore munched on amused
As the mental conversation
Played on unfettered, yet
Ears infernally abused

For the lady sat sobbing still
Unspoken words, wet cheeks
It is times such as these
That I wish to let
My inner Sherlock skulk free

– Akanksha Gupta

Encapsulation

The ink of prose,

Sophisticated and staid,

Prosily stains the sheets;

Spilling words upon words

With reckless abandon –

In expectation

Of a lengthy greatness

And in want

Of unnerving honesty; 

The sort that can be

Effortlessly eclipsed

In the guise

Of poetry

– Akanksha Gupta

ARCHITECTURE

air-pollution-discolouring-taj-mahal-finds-study

The Inspiration For “Architecture”

Look at me
I’m a marble masterpiece
Sublime, serene and standing tall
Stained with the fumes of yesteryears
The past dredges up against my shores
But at the core
I’m a mausoleum
Whose walls are lined with memoirs
And the weight of each word within
Settles encoffined upon my breath
Entombing the truth indoors
Like a whisper lost in the abyss
Like a skeleton buried forevermore
Yet at the fore
With practiced ease
My smile stretches to meet your own
And I let its gaze
Graze the contours of my face
Wondering all the while
If I’d have preferred it to penetrate
Past the grandeur of my turrets
To the Pietra Dura inlays
The very reflections of your soul within me
Or to the desolate cenotaphs
The carcasses of my past
Laid bare to your scrutiny
I wonder if, then,
I would have smiled
Or welcomed your expression within mine
But as I shallowly gaze upon
The great expectations in yours eyes
I savor the naiveté of my thoughts
Having realized
That as much as my soul
May be shuttered to your own
Twice more
It is to mine

– Akanksha Gupta (poem)

The QuadCore Brain



ACT I : The Belligerent Sycophant 

I wish
I could carve out
A path
From my head to my heart
And rationalize every thought
And every chemical reaction
With a melting pot
Of facts, figures and emotions
I wish
I could dissolve
All my scruples and sorrows
With nary a care
About the tuples of tomorrow
Oh I wish many a wish
And dream many a dream
But right now all I can focus on
Is, my senses tingling
From the cool of the ice cream


ACT II : The Silent Activist 

I’m trying to improve my handwriting
Making it clearer
So that when I put down my thoughts
And ideas
And opinions
I can go back and recollect them
So that they leave in my memory
An indelibly clearer impression
They are an expression in time
Of Circumstances and the society
Of myself and those around me
And I wish to put them down
Elegantly and tidily
To preserve them for eternity
To remember, to recall, the actions
To study the reactions
And learn from the inactions
Most of all


– Akanksha Gupta

A Telenovela About Self Love

mona-lisa-smile

There is a scatter plot
Of uncorrelated achievements
Oh I’m a jack of all trades
And there exists,
Braided through them,
A deep-seated contentment
A sense of self
A hint of esteem
And yet –
Yet
It is difficult to melt
That tincture of self-doubt
And a sense of inadequacy
For it is difficult to ignore
The unkempt words of the crowds
The jerks of all creeds
Who inspire such insecurity
That fleetingly
I wish I could forever stay
Wrapped in a cocoon
Of deluded disillusionment
And of uncertain certainty
All the while drowned
In the shallow pool
Of narcissism and vanity
Because
A certain uncertainty
Billows in the recesses of my mind
And overtakes the instincts
Until it eradicates all logical predilections
For languishing in the comfort of
Calculatedly and systematically stretched boundaries
However, Necessity turns my paranoia to adrenaline
Breathing new muscles into my languorous capabilities
And so, sees,
Dollop by dollop,
A regain of my pride
Tempered by time
And resistant to those crowds
Prejudiced
And preening with mockery
But all the while, not unlike them,
I too am walking
The fine line
Between pride and vanity

– Akanksha Gupta (poem only)