Poetry by Gopal Lahiri

Gopal Lahiri

Street Fair

Between 53rd and 54th street
Joe, Our taxi driver shouted in utter disbelief

Street Fair? As if a magic!

No traffic! Avenue of America
Greeted us by a few drops of rain.

Coloured leaves smeared in sidewalks,
Shining glass windows wiping tears
A few food stalls and souvenir clusters
Sheesh kebab pitzels
Autumn fest fall festival

Early evening ushered a few people
Two tattooed black girls posing in front of Love puzzle

Hair askew, unkempt but cheerful
It's about to be adored, not ravaged

Don't dress your age
To eschew not in favour of strait-laced
Hands reach out.

Pantsuits wafting in Wall Street aroma
Adopt restraint demure dull image

Home less placards; Give me 100 dollars
or I will vote for Clinton and
then I'm sad' with drooping head and shoulders.

Reading Langston Hughes
“Tomorrow, / I’ll be at the table / When company comes.”
We were stone deaf.

It's raining heavily, we ran for cover
Stood under the shade.

Our clock already set for Times Square
Then Broadway musicals
Then eat well
Halal'Biriyani and chicken curry
And grow up.

We know
New York do not freely smile back.

Television trucks trawled looking for celebrities

Refusing to hide
Fade or march their neck wrinkles.

Important post truth to be written
And with every passing .

They took over paradise here
In the streets of Manhattan.


Before I move away
The autumn leaves started falling
Adding circle to circle
Cell to cell,
A splendid sight.

Let me like those maple leaves
Flutter in the breeze
Then surrender in the grass
Always inside me the colour I love

All that remains is an echo of overtone
A brief silence
Salutes the cold morning
A Squirrel slowly turning his head,
And then the applause of the birds stirring the life.

I know I am here
Far away from the downtown
Alone with the Mother Earth
Eaten out the carbon and greying in the shade
Groping the scar and wounds.

Face to face

Much like our ancestors.
Once used to trust each other.

Now watching
each other like hawks.

I love the way a window is
like a viewfinder –
it frames
what is in front of us:
portraits of life.

Sometimes the books
on the wooden shelf
roil things up.
Not something lost but
as a treasured memory..

For the evening sun,
a plea for looking
at humanity and hatred,
a reminder.

Somewhere along the way
Hide themselves well,
the long walls
peppered with many faces
Erupt into meaning
at the end.


From turn to turn
Like this, like this.
The menacing mask
More mirthful.

Let it be
Converted to
the symphony of riches.


In the air we breathe

Unable even to look further
Not knowing what it takes
Away in convenience.

Let me like those pious men.

Resonant judgement and
memorable lines
on Rainbow of your eyes.

My dream do not listen to skies. .


Walking in the dream lane
Dreams are dead now
Trample in the grass.

Yet those colourful birds
I hear the tweets,
a song I remember

‘I was in love with you’.

When I think of them
I am shaken
The past is whistling.

Cotton farming
live a life,
In the air we breathe,

Winter is permanent
In drunken glee.

Snow white clouds making sails
Come and go
the tourists
I am caged here

I tell only the stories of dry leaves.

 Short Bio: Gopal Lahiri was born and grew up in Kolkata. He currently lives in Mumbai, India. He is a bilingual poet, writer, editor, critic and translator and widely published in Bengali and English language. Anthology appearances (among others) includes National Treasures, Indus Valley, A posy of poesy, Concerto, Poet’s paradise, My dazzling Bards, Jorasanko, The Silence within, Indo-Australian Anthology, Homebound, The Dance of the Peacock, Illuminations. His works have featured in journals Indian Literature, Taj Mahal Review, CLRI, Haiku Journal and electronic publications Arts and Letters, Underground Window, Muse India, Poetry Stop, Debug, Eastlit and Coldnoon Diaries. He has jointly edited the anthology of poems: Scaling Heights. He can be reached at glahiri@gmail.com and g_lahiri@yahoo.com
PH- 022-26402566; Mobile: 9969221288