Author Archives: Sangeeta Gupta

About Sangeeta Gupta

Poet, abstract artist, documentary film maker. Has 20 published books, 9 collections of poems translated in Greek, German, bangla, urdu, dogri. Writes both in English and Hindi. Has scripted and directed 7 documentary films. Has held 35solo exhibitions of paintings in India and abroad. Based in Delhi, India.

A Letter



A letter is
an intimate conversation
between two people
the one who writes opens a door
for the reader to enter
one’s personal space
often sacred and vulnerable
a narrative of timeless wait
for the reader it is an act of love
as if one enters that time
when one was thought of fondly 
may be missed passionately 
that frozen piece of time is
packed and parceled
with utmost care
once it is read
it is frozen in memory
If unanswered
It throbs eternally
like  an endless saga
of longing and waiting
a letter is nothing less
than a miracle.

A Quarantine affair



Lovey – dovey pillow talk
or silent long engaging
eye to eye conversations
or burst of endless laughter
or your coded secret
expressions of raw passion
or your soulful songs
slowly falling like autumn flowers
in the lap of my heart
echoing in my timeless
personal space
or the deep unsaid, unspoken 
spells of silences
which makes us burn
with unknown desires
or your wide awake eyes
pleading a sleepy pair of eyes
to stay awake
through the night till morn
And yet we pacify each other
that this is just a casual chit chat
between two lonesome
in the virtual world
In the era of covid distancing
knowing well what this may be
but scared to define
and name .

Books.



I grew up in a family
where not much
communication happened
those days
my father did not
ever express his love
he thought we would know
that he cared to provide
all that we needed
and that was love for him
mom’s life revolved around him
me and my siblings
grew up around books 
probably that is the  reason
why I am a reader
why I always turned to books
why books raised me
we would read all the time
it was my escape from life
which I did not understand
not that I understand
life any better now 
also books always rescued me
they still  continue to do so
they unfold what I need to know
they also give me insights
I look for answers
to all my unresolved matters 
they are dependable
like old childhood friends
my bed side companions
my comfort zone
my source of joy
my inspiration
they never fail me
this relationship of mine
is secure and safe
I can go back to them
any time without hesitation.

Some Promises Are..

I sit in the winter afternoon sun
and let it converse
with my skin
while I soak my soul
in it’s warmth
we both soak
the silence between us
this communication is
so captivating
I let the lazy afternoon
slowly merge with
the early evening 
sun softly glances
at my  blissful being
and reluctantly
murmurs a promise
of coming back soon
I slowly shut my eyes
knowing well that
all my tomorrow’s
depend on this promise 
some promises are
for soul to keep safe.

Hymn To Trees

I can walk away
from anyone
even you my love
to come back to myself
and to my friends
who love me
for no reason whatsoever
they never ask me
to define my relationship
with them
they don’t care a bit
about our future together
they just love me
in our shared moments
they are there for me
when I despair
when I weep bitterly 
when I am hopelessly exhausted
when I bleed in grieving
for my loss of faith
when I lament for
my unrequited love
and heartbreak
when I am devastated
by cruel insensitivity
of human beings 
they accept my raw
insane passion
with such elegance and grace
they let me hug them 
they let me hold them in my arms
they are capable of handling
my broken, charred heart
and heal me with their soft laughter
and soulful songs
they have never failed me ever
they rejuvenate me
so that I can return home
to life one more time.

I Soak My Soul


I soak my soul
in the river pool of sunset rays
they are soft and beautiful
like your unspoken
thoughts of me
l laugh to myself
blissfully
at my skill sets
I can read you like
my favourite book of poems
as I wish
when I wish
you are caught unaware
every time you think of me
I don’t know you
as time didn’t permit us
to be together on this earth
yet I know you
as much as I know myself
I soak my soul
in the river pool of  sunset rays
they are soft and beautiful
like your unspoken
thoughts of me.

Since I heard that you are unwell

Since I heard that you are unwell
I have been thinking
I must brush aside
all essential, non essential
concerns of the world
sit by your bed side in silence
absorb all your discomfort
softly kiss your eyes
with the tips of my fingers
fill them with kisses of sound sleep
scribble on each of your hair
each of my unsaid poems
touch you with my glances
in such a way that
each pore of your skin
gets filled with peace
hide my blessings under your feet
in a way that  you experience
comfort in a split of a second
sit by your bed side in silence
since I heard that you are unwell
I have been thinking….

You Always Say That

YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT

You always say that
I am amazing with words
though I often feel
words are not enough
when it comes to express
my passion, raw and intense
the pain of knowing that
you are not mine
so – so far away
from my mortal reach
I can’t see you
I can’t hug you
I can’t hold you in my arms
I can’t whisper in your ears
that all will be fine soonest
how can words express
how much I long to hold your hands
how I crave for your cozy smile
and that light in your eyes
all I have to offer are these words
all wrapped in love
of thousand of lifetimes
I fail to express all and enough
I brush away failure every time
when you say
I am amazing with words.

Homeland

Homeland
is not a piece of territory
not something fixed
and rooted in geography
it is portable and
we carry it with us
wherever we go
it is the essence of
our homeland which blooms
in our hearts.
history not necessarily
moves forward
Sometimes it moves in circles
and sometimes
it even moves backwards
we commit the same mistakes
in same ways
generation after generation
history will keep repeating itself
till we learn the much needed lessons 
life teaches history and
geography differently
than what was taught in school
there we are taught how to read
and write, how to memorise
for getting good grades
for good careers
then we go out in the world
to fend for ourselves
hopelessly ill equipped
what a waste formal education is.

Ends are Beginnings


Ends are
beginnings
an incessant process
universe destroys
and creates
transforms
form to formlessness
formlessness to form
tireless, endless cosmic dance
unknown and yet known
a miracle, energy field
our journey
from dust to dust
from nothing to nothing
part of the universe
also the universe we are
why rejoice the beginning
or lament the end
an incessant process
from dust to dust
from nothing to nothing
ends are
beginnings.