Gopal Lahiri writes

Crossing

This morning I hear the bells and whistles 

Away from the roads and streets

The fair weather is only peeling clouds,

Of the beginnings and endings.

Not many footprints are there on the dirty sand

Near beach shacks, near lampposts,

Horse carriages are as if invisible in haze,

Where do they end?

Corn seller alone lost in somnolence of the tall breakers

On the wave splashed seafront, underneath the

Insects are breeding without notice,

Like there is no time to take rest.

Another night of abuse and invective

Slowly breaks a not so opaque allusion 

And there is often a sense of struggle

Of its own against the tyranny of life.

Crossing the sleepless night

An old lady smiles at the rising sun,

Inside her lies the fractured mind,

Wrinkle on her face deepened, elongated.

Foams surf the wombs, unreal the crest and trough

In all its radiance and trappings,

All muted murmurs sail through the high tides,

Juhu beach holds me now with her piercing blue eyes.

 

  Juhi Beach, Mumbai