 |
| Gopal Lahiri |
Anaphora
The present is yellow leaves
sink from a Jamun tree
The present is a soiled tablecloth
and the dirty coffee mug
The present is morning’s
fire and fury
The present is burnt villages
along the riverbank.
The present is to crawl out and
watch the smoke.
The present is the heaps of ashes
fall around me.
The present is this knowing
and that end
***
Inevitable
For me there is no reader
no plaudits, no cheer up either,
only words, those words
buzzing at me like hovers,
they can never be spun.
no plaudits, no cheer up either,
only words, those words
buzzing at me like hovers,
they can never be spun.
You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye,
this is your deep laugh
that is your long hard look.
I open the door of closure
I can’t find you there
I plant the hibiscus in new rain
I am not afraid of storms
My flowers turn into visceral red.
***
Kopai
In this abode of
peace, starry night is a diverse
vessel that my
body can inhabit.
Kopai river
is where I escape from
chaos and
agitation, from mundane and ordinary.
Under the
cloudless sky,
I count the steps
between time and memory.
The Banyan tree
gives me the unruffled shade,
Baul songs
blow like leaves in dainty shadows.
I sleep there in
solitude, watching the moon,
I harden in its
beam.
Water seeps
through the pores of my body,
How fleeting, the
strength of water in the floating hour,
A little canoe on
the river then carries all my wounds
into
the perpetuity.
***
My City
The city loves to carry the soothsayers amidst
the morning smog,
Sun’s ribcage exposes the barren city park.
Constraints are not ignored by the newspaper columnists,
an exercise in excavations, thin dinosaur skeletons
from the ancient museum break all alphabets
What escapes is the long apology from the pigeons,
from the rows, from the white owls,
a church is in the middle of nowhere invites prayers.
Bookstore gutted, shopping mall rises,
grains of colonial facades transform into memories,
twenty teens gulp lattes and cappuccinos,
When the city turns its bone into ballads,
the rickshaw bells revamps
into an evening concert.The city loves to carry the soothsayers amidst
the morning smog,
Sun’s ribcage exposes the barren city park.
Constraints are not ignored by the newspaper columnists,
an exercise in excavations, thin dinosaur skeletons
from the ancient museum break all alphabets
What escapes is the long apology from the pigeons,
from the rows, from the white owls,
a church is in the middle of nowhere invites prayers.
Bookstore gutted, shopping mall rises,
grains of colonial facades transform into memories,
twenty teens gulp lattes and cappuccinos,
When the city turns its bone into ballads,
the rickshaw bells revamps
into an evening concert.
***
Triumvirate
a.
If you want to come, please bring
your secret weapon,
I reach out to touch the mist
near the river’s edge,
You can push me down and relax.
b.
If you are not serious,
bring the polyphenols
That can give me a small waist, healthy
heart and low blood pressure.
I will live a joyous life at your mercy.
c.
Some doors I want to close
I falter again and again,
My footsteps follow me on the
lemon grass land,
Have always enjoyed your poetry, these are no exception.
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