Bio Note: I am a retired geo-scientist and now engage in full-time writing bilingual (English and Bengali) poetry and do book reviews and translation. Yet my first love is traveling and photography. Being a Tiger fan, I love Jungle Safari too much. I have jointly edited the Indo- American Anthology Bridging Continents. I have a few collections of poems to my credit.
It’s end of the day and it’s different the evening puts her words inside. Sailing boats keep their chest open to the west wind birds look up at the sky and tweet darkness. Let them glide before the steel bridge and smell the pure rust of memories. Butterflies land in silence it’s like leaves coming back to a dead tree. Now the darkness advances in slow motion come unstuck the hiss of the circular rail. Slip from the ghat the ferry launching in a hurry a world of obtuse angles, lights turn into photos. The conversation on the bench cut a deck of cards feeling the lines into a speech their hands shall stay here forever.
Putul Bari (The Doll’s House)
The city records scratches and mistakes in silence colourful mansions reach out to sky striking out the calligraphy on the warehouse wall. Old history papers pile on the archives, beautiful dolls and lusty babus screening brick and mortar faces, it’s to do with the eyebrows, The warm smell of the wooden doors and frames red velvet chair, gilt and bronze lampshades, fill with wet memories of Ahiritola ghat, Shuffling down the narrow avenue, the rustle of quash-squash sound of the animal feet as if it’s the most familiar, most haunting, The cold marble floor erases blood and footsteps, moments of the gloomy past and the strange sounds, Putul Bari flickers in moonshine to answer the sky.
©2021 Gopal Lahiri
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