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Gopal Lahiri Poem
Dry spell
On a summer day
the wind become standstill,
my memories enmesh
in the heap of dry leaves,
faces close enough
to feel the warmth,
silence fall back-
the tiny bird disappears.
the hand reaches out
after a brief pause,
the soft touches never
travel along the trodden track,
blazing tall trees
wisely leaving
the rain drop behind,
to taunt the tearful eyes.
Copyright © Gopal Lahiri | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Gopal Lahiri Poem
The sinful playacting of the leaders insists on
crowing over empty victories,
and words without being versed are cremated
on the despoiled landscape;
Elsewhere, night steps up on every toe and hangs fire.
All roads and lanes want bold footprints,
it will not matter whose,
the wind’s shrilling summons convivial light
on the blurry faces and their doleful cries
struggle to reach far and beyond.
Under the shade of sodium vapour lamps,
bodies morph from poor to rich, living to dead,
the rush of blue lights distils on the discoloured skin
of the mannequins; the city scrawls and scratches
on the marbles of the palace and cenotaph.
Copyright © Gopal Lahiri | Year Posted 2020
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