Gopal Lahiri writes

Destiny

I stand, start moving, play alone in the dark

Now they come, they want to interrogate me,

I listen to them in the shadows of exile,

So they talk to me long enough, tear me apart for sure

Then they leave silently, keeping their fingers crossed,

Darkness lingers in my broken bone, in damaged eyes.

Knowing a slice of my destiny hidden there,

But I never reach across a galaxy,

Never hold raging storm or tsunami in my hand.

Just think of the day, no one knows

I have kept some fire sticks in my diary pages,

for stitching allegory to mask my fear.

Sometimes grey clouds witness my struggle,

always I wish stars would fall as rain and

burn in silence on my feather bed.

Then I wait and wait for some more time

I know that destinies are star-crossed but

Not for long, not reaching there ever.

Interrogation II -- Leon Golub  

Gopal Lahiri writes

City of joy

(Kolkata)

Beyond its apparent history and heritage

The esplanade and the old palaces hide

Conflict and wound, sacrifice and forgotten

heroism,

And blur the dense boundaries

Between the real and fiction.

The city still sparkles with deception,

It’s slum boys and stray dogs with their gloomy eyes

Sink daily in the halogen emissions,

The night then curates the distant stars

With unknown algorithms.

Despite its dark and quiet isolation,

The street corner revives as a shadowy stage,

Echoing in perfect pitch the minimalist score,

Faceless figures in sketches and watercolours

Whisper on the subway entrance.

The memorial light is buried now

Under the loads of whispers,

In pursuit of the endless dreams

The lips murmur on the wingspan of the

Lonely skilled fisher.

The trees turn into a series of promises,

Syncopated words and sentences

Sublimate into the secret diaries,

The hustle of the avenues

Swaddle in our lengthy playlist.

When the cloud descends and the rain pours

It can be bleakest over the deeply cut river,

The boats and streamers

Lie stark naked in the middle,

As if beating out the source of all life.

Stirred by its bravery

The million smiles fill the pores of

The collapsing brick walls, and

The evening sky in search of the truth

Writes the anthem of the generations.

 

 Calcutta - Ronnie Patel

Gopal Lahiri writes

Sewri Mudflat

Before I adjust my dual eye lenses

The lesser flamingos start pecking at shrimps

Their red eyes and dark beak

jabbing in search of beta carotene.

More pink than white feathers, unlike the greater flamingos,

the inverted U-shaped necks survey

the rising sun and the tiny ripples

on the low tide water exchanging doubt and trust

amongst the distinct batches.

Some move towards mangroves to rest their legs

Some still feed the dawn

ignoring the curious looks of the

less-fancied sandpipers, plovers and stints.

Away from this narrow outlet,

the people on the main Sewri jetty

With small and big binoculars on,

Pull up tweets and ask where they are and

Whistle if they sight one or a few rump towards them.

Still choosing a pit stop every year

but in the shade

These migratory birds with their fatigued tail feathers

come digging clods of earth.

The view of the feathered guests turn out to be

Unique as always in the mud flat

under the mellow winter sun.

 

 Bird Counters -- Purvis Evans