Poetry: Gopal Lahiri

Gopal Lahiri

Take me to the forest

And every forest has its own history, 

its own allusion,

a world of trees and their echoes

pause on a wooden bridge

quite apart from yours,

The sky is full of unexpected clouds

gives a exploratory image

a grey quartz vein piercing

 the country rock,

thereby typical.

And the eye is fixed on the far gone

fading and slanting

into the mountain range truncated by humans, 

into the lake slowly rippling,

sends regrets with almost the same intensity.

Now the birds give consent 

to sentinel the place,

I want to step down that way and think,

look into it,

why not enjoy its meaning.

***

Queen of Hills

I stand at the middle of the lonely corner

It is cold, crowded with numerous footfalls.

clouds and music are exhausting.

A pine tree flickers grey lights on my eye,

birds with their rose-tinged tails scramble on the trees.

pink, scarlet, mauve- flowers explode in the sky.

Habib Mullick and Oxford Bookstore invites mist 

and heritage along with the tourists.

At the corner of the distant bench, the yellow shirt 

takes the hands of the red cardigan on his lap.

their whispers rise and are hung on the lamppost.

A few lights flicker on the shacks down the slope.

unexplained smile and rumpuses resonate all around.

I take a stroll around, staring into the windows of the shops.

Bhutia market is replete with effulgence, anecdotes, and stories

Life is what it is, says the queen of hills.

The late afternoon is sublime now in its deferred state.

***

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Setu, April 2023