Special Edition: Gopal Lahiri

Gopal Lahiri

House of Mirrors

This is a house of mirrors

the full moon lies on the arched veranda,

the house smells of animal skins

muddy designs of white butterflies are

hanging on the walls,

each presence has a shade of meaning.

Hamilton sketches are on the wall,

the Palani hills, three pillars of mountains

show ecological changes,

upstairs with. wooden rooms and granary

remain the same, an abandoned branches bisected,

shimmering with lesions. rugged, rough, rusted.

Survival is a dot here.

it is so brave and small against the impossible,

the two bells go pealing through my age,

the lambanis songs by the beat of nagari

slatted wooden screes are not there.

broken glasses nurture in dereliction.

This place is heard, smelled, imagined, loved.

***

Walk in Silence

I cry out for peace like a prayer,

passing clouds with no names,

whisper histories of the old days.

I live in. I walk in silence under the grey sky

a rain drop waits at the edge of a leaf

to declare the daybreak.

This road chokes to a narrow puddle, two birds

fight for spaces on the broken branch,

they want to share their secrets with the earth

in the drifting screen of haze.

I pass under the banyan tree, I sense its

calmness in the luminous shade,

but a silent voice lures me inward,

says- don’t bend to the breeze.

***

Holding on to the air

(Inspired by a Santhal Dancer)

You unroll those marvels,

under the blazing sky,

the whirling in the circle

as the line fills the ground—

that look is like a string of pearls,

like a fire spreading

pure energy, spotless lines, no weight

Fall more, lean more bend more.

With long arms long legs 

and a bunch of flowers sticking

into the unkempt tresses,

small head

that zags, lurches, darts, describes

a progress so quick

no nerves can catch it,

fullness and a horn of plenty

holding on to the air,

Choreograph to live

meditation as if a dance of 

mounting rupture,

energy just pour and pour

a tail-swirl ruffles the earthy surface . . .

another pass, so high

and the bowing in a rain of Jasmine flowers.

***

Tsunami

The sky is now a river of flame

and creates a flutter in it

I hold a shared moment now

shining in the twilight.

The wind is wild, it can never be

spun, it only shakes the fallen leaves

your eyes rung dry from spent tears

and search for the unborn girl.

A street artist draws ‘Shakti’ in canvas

Ascending from the ruins,

A tsunami will now claim the night

This is her way of teaching us.

***

War Scene

I don’t want to die, says one young boy,

I wish it would all end soon.

words form a ring of fire until

the edges slice and cut fleshes.

A shell is landed near the hospital 

at the edge of the heritage tower,

An ambulance rushes up and brings a wounded 

little girl, her blood pools flow on the floor.

medics fail to resuscitate her, 

half-empty train leaves the moribund city, 

Those hungry faces cry day and night

Bleeding and breath-choked,

everything dies from inside.

Don’t empty houses ring?

The tanks emblazon,

isn’t it your life?

isn’t this war hardening your bones? 

Isn’t still burning out your eyes?

The screen goes blood red,

who will end this terrible conflict?

No one knows,

Silence is the only answer here and everywhere.

***

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Setu, August 2024