By Gopal Lahiri
The sunrays rub the wood of the window frame
wipe dust from the keys; the soft light loves bass notes,
a thread of kindness runs through the silence
listen here closely; the call what’s been before,
each moment recollects lines and lyrics
still spilling nectars on the leafy courtyard
the memories resonate in pumice from the eruptions
streaming pyres, the ash wind is hard to pin down,
everything will stay, tangle to each other
the night birds walk into low applause,
the voice of the dark will have eyes kissed
there is the stillness into which wakeful night
unlearn sleeping, unlearn the order of things,
each year is echoing childhood, the sound of the past.
The sky was stirred by the lightning
low clouds dropped a haiku on the empty pavement,
heard and listened
an old woman crossed the wooden bridge.
The city opened the inner envelope; it’s only
maelstrom of chaos and confusion,
the blood-curdling thing about the high street was
more about the certainty than a scenario.
On the edge of the chimney and window
a lonely flute man interrupted the silence,
ghost stories leaped from the river water
to greet the ascending stars.
Long days had outgrown the evening costume
the aphonic people danced on the chalcedonic floor.
Gopal Lahiri is a Kolkata- based bilingual poet, critic, editor, writer and translator with 21 books published mostly in English (13) and a few in Bengali (8), including three joint books. His poetry has also been published across various anthologies as well as in eminent journals of India and abroad. He has been invited in various poetry festivals including World Congress of Poets recently held in India. He is published in 12 countries and his poems have been translated in 8 languages.
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