Poetry Here & Now 

                                                                                                                                              Ashok Gupta 

Liberation

Clouds change their image again and again

and

receive the blame,

the wind flows quietly

remains,

 

transparent and innocent.

 

Sparrows are on the fast, until death,

there is no water in the garden

land is full of cactus

planted proud fully.

 

My book was lost yesterday from my table

I was sad.

Today I found

Children are using its pages

Making gliders

And enjoying the fun.

 

I am extremely happy

the book has done it’s good

and

liberated the generation.

 

Really,

I don’t need the book any more…..

My Portraits

It was not the portrait of my mother

I had drawn,

but to my wonder,

how could I place a mole on her chin

that drove the fragrance.

 

I once had a book of nursery rhymes

which I mugged up all,

She never cared that I always drew

A flower like a rabbit,

She was excited only

On my action songs.

 

The day,

my father passed away

and my mother

stepped  into her virtual death,

I was working on a portrait

in my dreams,

a flower like flower, and rabbit like rabbit,

and

it was not the portrait of my mother.

 

My portrait is crying my action songs

my dreams

are not the dead dreams at all….

Truth of the desert

Desert sings it’s loneliness

and

wipes out my foot prints,

Desert is unaware of mirage.

 

I cry,

not on account of my own solitude

I am shocked,

how silently the sand allows

wind to smear away

the names

written on it’s surface…

 

May be

The wast and endless absence of any land mark

On the spread of desert

is

the conspiracy of Wind

and Sun too,

they can at least teach

about mirage to desert…

 

Alas,

The desert is really alone….!