Two worlds. Two parts. Two lives. One time.
Caught in a trance of my own decisions,
Finding no way to deviate off from them
Leaving faster than the moon,
Oh, but they’ll know it by noon.
Should I leave or should I disguise?
Should I sacrifice or should I minimize?
My alter ego seems a bit off on my decisions,
My heart’s screaming since those prescriptions,
There’s a rush in my blood, no more fluid,
Faster at the moment, the night tries to escape
Hands try to stretch longer than the feet
Sun’s not up for the day, still waits behind the cape…
Pieces of thoughts left loose in our minds are not where they’ll confine.
Creating a chronology from their kind, they’ve manifested their trust in the next one, making peace and order for their type; they hold the other with sheer strength and affirmation.
The spiral seems to never end
Moving with the bend
At each instant
I feel nauseous
Moving with the circles it’s obvious
Grinding my sight
I am starting to feel unconscious
Might fall asleep with the fall of the night
But who’ll come to wake me up
After the sun has broken out,
While I tend to sleep longer…
They move in circles
Whirling around making hustle
Moving round-n-round causing a rattle
I take a rest but they don’t settle
Cause they like to move in circles
Round and round, one by one
Producing sounds like no one’s around
Seems to me that they deem me
As no one is in this house.
Take me to a place
Far away from this haze
I know this is a hard time, the life’s phase
But I am done with their constant faz-ing
I am taking,
One that won’t shoot, me,
Right through my race.
Cause they like to…
All the years I’ve lived,
I’ve lived between places,
Being the middle one in all the cases,
I’ve given parts of me to two faces,
I’ve been between those surfaces,
I’ve lived on a line with two traces — touching each one at a time,
Dividing myself to work for two services,
I've endured curses,
Coming from two spaces,
Enough to burn two furnaces.
All the years I’ve lived,
I’ve lived between places.
© Aasma Gupta 2021
Thanks a lot for reading my poem! Fortunately, this one’s a part of a bigger family i.e., it’s a series. The series, 13, is a short one and has no more than six poems. You can check it out on my profile or check out the previous poem of this series. Get the next poem here (soon).
Philosophy does not promise to secure anything external for man, otherwise it would be admitting something that lies beyond its proper subject-matter. For as the material of the carpenter is wood, and that of statuary bronze, so the subject-matter of the art of living is each person's own life.
— Epictetus, Discourses 1.15.2, Robin Hard revised translation
Stoicism, a school found by Zeno of Citium, means to modulate your behavior according to the nature and world. We cannot change is the exterior world, but what comes in handy and can be changed is the interior one, that’s the philosophy behind…
It seems you have been displaced from your place
But you’re empty though
And I have a thousand words to say
But I am worried still
That someone might see what I wrote in there.
Could you hold my pain?
When I write it away,
Erase my words,
When I have gone astray?
Taking away my pieces from their reads,
Empty pages hiding the screams.
Do you wonder about me?
How I write pain calling it poetry? …
In-between of death and life, Between those laughs and cries, between failures and successes, what do you call that lies?
Do I have a future?
A place to go a place to be?
Stuck beneath the sea
Its tides move back and forth
Leaving some water on the shore
I cannot be a part of the water
I cannot move up
And bear to live a losing battle
Dwelling under the roots of the tree
Sucking my will and energy
Stealing air for its leaves
No, I don’t wanna live
Down or up the line
Wanna live with the line
Next week, I’ll be releasing my first short series '13’. It constitutes a few number of poems. 7th July is the release date of the first poem ‘|The Line’.
It wouldn’t be long to wait for the second one!
© Aasma Gupta 2021
You grow me into a human
Then push down for substitution
Heeding your intuition
For the sake of perturbation
Watching us fall
Like the earth had to crawl
Away from our feet
For you and me
To end with our grieves
Talking with pauses
Hiding something in those silent noises
A taunt, a cry, a new face?
You won’t say, for you’ve camouflaged with different colors
So many that you’ve lost yours
I know what the color is though
Open up and I’ll show you the way
I’ll tell you everything you were and became
I’ll show you my love,
What night could darken my faith?
What eyes shall subtle the truth?
What tears would reveal my ruth?
Which heart could survive it through?
Carrying the weight of no density,
Carrying screams with no voices,
Carrying frenzies of no motion,
Carrying conclusions of no causes.
Which way should be led?
Which question to be heeded?
Which part to be first affixed?
Which woe should be halted?
No face of grief,
No face of blithe.
No hope to define — a proof,
No hope of peace — a respite.
Aasma Gupta 2021
Poetry. Philosophical Articles. A pinch of Fiction. Life. Death. Love. — A learner with a pen and paper!