Poetry: Gopal Lahiri

Gopal Lahiri

Diary Page

I am on my way

every tree is sacred here.

Between each sentence

there is a moon channel passing through,

every word is visible in darkness,

of exile years.

Each door carries its own story in my village.

My diary page is weeping.

A window is screaming in verse,

no one is listening.

Enough of rain

I fill memories with Saptaparna leaves.

Beneath my words

your allure has a sense of spontaneity.

@gopallahiri

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Nostalgia

It’s summer here.

the last of the tiny birds’ tweet seals the sky.

Higher, higher, and soon she will reach the blue

and make each layer of clouds to her own.

It is so quiet here that I can even hear the song

filling the snippets of reality.

The end of the sky has already darkened

I stare at the sudden blossoming of Rangan.

I can see from here my village green

blushes in this clear air of the morning.

The jamun tree stores all its grievances

against the raindrops

as minutes slowly split into seconds,

The leaves are mute now, stripped of their

unvarnished laughter

nostalgia overflows when unattended.

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Mantra

I muse on the morning sun- how it can

darken my skins to the maximum.

The wind steals a salty kiss on my lips

two sea birds are alighted,

swerving on the blazing sunrays,

later comes a fleeting romance,

then flying high, creaking all along.

Then there is a shivery moment

changing at the end without any strain.

I chant a mantra, my breath is ringing on my lips

I see my words are get trapped in the air,

preserved and now whisper in your ear.

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Gopal Lahiri is a Kolkata- based bilingual poet, critic, editor, writer and translator with 21 books published mostly (13) in English and a few (8) in Bengali, including three joint books.

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Local 2020 :: Setu, June 2020