The Boy

He passed me by one day
and turned a stranger into a friend
I know not what I found in his eyes
maybe his glee has no end
As time went on, and I noticed him more
I felt like I knew him from before.

In a flock of sheep, he leads his own path
He fought valiant, when life showered wrath
He follows his passions with all his heart
And whatever he does, he perfects the art
‘cause never he follows, the ways of the herd
his story reminded me, of the flight of a bird

I know not much about him
but I know he leads his choice
unlike millions infront of him
he does not follow what his heart doesn’t voice.
I realize those happy eyes, carry a burden of untold stories
Some dark secrets, some painful truths, some dreams and some glories
But his life is beautiful, that is what I know
As I envy the twinkle, which his eyes never miss to show

Some call him a fool, to follow the path less traveled
some say his misfortunes, will soon be unraveled
but I see he found reason
in the desert of dead habit
in the ocean of lunacy
to sanity, he made it.

He doesn’t mingle much,
and speaks less, only to a few
still I see, something in his heart is due
his life did not end, after a feeble taste of success
he still pursues his goals, his dreams never rest
and after all, that is the purpose of life
towards perfection tirelessly arms must strive
He may be forloned, but he walks with his head held high
he may taste the ground sometimes, but his life touches the sky
Narrow walls fail, to break his world
and seeing him, your sorrows will also be curled.
His mind is free, his thought and action
he is awake, in a world of sleeping contraction.
The times have changed, but the fears are still the same
he fought through it all, and played life’s arduous game
He chose his OPtions and lived them well
and flew past hundreds, who to their knees fell.

His life did not come easy, but it was free
like the lone steady climb of a strong faithful tree
he grew alone, but gave shadow to those in need
to those who didn’t care, he paid no heed
His fruits were reaped, by everyone akin
it didn’t matter to him, whether it was mate or min

So I end this Ode, to the boy who lived
in a river, where only dead fish drift
may his life, be a lesson to those who want to live
and not just pass through, God’s golden gift
May his sacrifices, remind the ones to follow
that no struggle is small, when we battle against life’s hollow.
So this was the tale, of the boy I envy
‘cause when herd sleeps, he writes his own tale.

- Vishal Gupta

Sindbad

He dreamt,

he dreamt of sailing the seas

between the waves he found peace

the vast ocean drew him near

for its depth, he felt no fear

the chill of the winds, gave him fire

to be guided by the stars, was his only desire

the waters gave him solace, like a friend’s talk

but, no passion is achieved without a harsh walk.

His peers were against his idea to freedom

‘dreams are good, reality doesn’t come.’

he was subdued, in every step he took,

‘be practical. Fantasies look good in a book.’

never he got, any support of any kind

‘this path is lit. Why walk blind?’

he was the first, to dream of sailing

and every dream was pushed, ‘neath the fear of failing.

But, he dreamt

no words could break his spirit to sail

who fear could win, when he wrote his own tale

to die gleefully in the ocean, was better than living bounded on land

and he struggled, he fought to gain command

He wanted to live, his life in his way

and to achieve his dream, he worked night and day

Many hands tried, to block his road

but wings of fire raged, when Sindbad strode.

He made his ship and bid farewell

and heard the curses to go to hell

he paid no heed to the people who feared

‘cause he had the blessings of those who cared.

Lowering the sails, he set off to his world

and in moments, the residual discontentment nulled.

He danced with pride and sang with joy

he was as happyas an infant boy.

He lived,

his path was not easy, no meant to be

but it was the path which made him see

life, given once, was to be carved

where no dream in life would be starved

the roads may not be easy, but we can’t accept fall

and trials are what break through the brick walls

We may end in our graves, having achieved nothing

a waste of the power of creation, an insult to our being

No matter how tall the mountain may seem

on top of it awaits the golden beam

aim high we must, in all aspects of life

and live through life, as a constant strive

for perfection and beyond, is the ultimate aim

and in that state of belonging, life’s turmoil becomes a game

So he lived his way, and went beyond

the common path, and common man’s fond

May you also, write your destiny

and your name live like Sindbad’s, through eternity.

- Vishal Gupta

16^th September ‘09

This one's quite close to me. It's something about someone really close to me. A boy who knew only one thing, big dreams turn to big reality

Knuts

My tribute to all the knuts in the world

Including myself

:)

The new world

I once waited for a time
when the world would open up to me
when I’d be counted among the ‘grown-ups’
when decisions would hear my say
and actions would ask for my help
when no longer my name would be ‘shut up’
when I’d have the right to demand for what’s just
and I’d do without boundaries what I must.

As I step, into the new world
I feel my expectations, getting curled.
I see a world with crushed values
In the name of which what remain are statues
I see a world, where flock follows flock
and is called lunatic, one who breaks the lock
I see a world, where talks are many but listeners are few
And actions on the talks, are only left due.

I see a world, where relationships are weighed
not on a scale of feelings and emotions
but on the basis, of money and status
Returns are what guide the foundations of friendship
Meager to leave and rich ones to keep.
A bank of favors, is in operation
where deposits and withdrawals go turn by turn
And if a friend is unable to help in the time of need
then his name goes off the list indeed.

I see moral values crushed beneath the claws of culture
like the seagull in claws of a vulture
Everyday we sell ourselves, to be a part of a race
with no end and no aim we increase our pace
just to get ahead of others we try to follow
and instead lead them to the great hollow.
And in the race, we loose the basic question
that what is the purpose behind our formation
But such ‘philosophy’ can wait
‘cause we have other records to set straight
We have things that need to be done
and till then I should stay mum
‘cause I ask, they say, too many questions
ones for which I’ll get no answer
‘cause they also searched for it once
before being sucked into the world
and that will be my destiny too
‘cause all the people have the same thing to do
they all land into the same place
the sooner I realize it the better

With so many reasons thrown at once
I halt and drop the discussion
and think if should I believe what I’ve heard
and follow the shepherd like the herd.
No I shall not, rings a voice from within
a voice which is beautiful, in its being
the voice of the soul, everyone has
but most bury it, when the real world they pass
I’ve decided not, to bury my call
and the day I do, will be my fall
I believe in Tagore’s world where we shall awaken
into a life which has not been taken
by autocracies in the name of rituals
that day shall bring miracles
with every moment that shall be gone
under the light of the sun.

But today, I fear, I face the today’s world
and it pains to be sane to understand the hurdle
I pray to have strength, not to loose myself
but today I find no one to help
All I hear is ‘you think too much’
so should I stop thinking once and for all
and become one in the mindless herd
or should I choose the path less taken
I ask thee, answer me
What would you have done?

- Vishal Gupta

1st August ‘09

JNG