Hidden Footprints

The paint peels off its walls in clumps, the

wooden floor exhales in the hidden footprints,

I watch birds circle over the painted canoes

and slip my memories back into the river.

All around me are the multiple shadows meaning

something more than the toes of the ghosts,

I remain lost in the nazm of Aga Shahi, the

grey mist still smears my bruised palms

I talk with myself deep into the night under the

watchful gazes of yellow and white owls,

out in the distance, the street light shout

the unknown alphabets in slow speed.

I add a few more wrinkles late in the night,

one more thread of memory lodges in silence.

©gopallahiri

Images

Moving and solemn a day I offer a bunch

of roses in the quiet river,

I quiver navigating the mountain paths, the

morning light gives the safe passage

In this moment of silence, a tiny bird sits

on a run-down wooden bench,

her eyes are fixed on a lonely insect

hiding behind the heaps of grass.

I remember the dents and playful smile

and her words linger on my lips,

where does she go knowing there is no

exit, neither for she, not for me.

I leave the canvas as it is today,

waiting for the moon rise tomorrow.

©gopallahiri

City Chromosome

Babus and Bibis turn into a circle of inferno,

swap places, not knowing where the winding

alleyways lead to ecstasy or curse.

the late night has claws and shards.

Crows and pigeons snuff out the calmness of

the morning purging the dissident minds.

cathedrals share space with the shining mall,

smoke filled pubs connect city people.

The broken rooftops and old bridges watch

astronomical clocks tracking stars and planets,

riots and conflict reshape the soul of its people

not the urban looks, nor the driven agenda.

Tourists bustle and absinthe mansions turn slowly

into a bohemian massif, a ramshackle mindset,

ghostly dryads dance in the ruins of palaces.

under the shaky porches, rusted iron railings.

Literature and myth live in every brick and stone

resolving even medieval alchemical mysteries.

whispers capture the fables, sing folk songs,

the city doesn’t let go, either of you or me.

©gopallahiri

Gopal Lahiri is a bilingual poet, critic, editor, writer and translator with 30 books published, including eight solo/jointly edited books. His poetry and prose are published across more than one hundred journals and anthologies globally His poems are translated in 18 languages and published in 16 countries. He has been nominated for Pushcart Prize for poetry in 2021. He has received Setu Excellence Award, Pittsburgh, US, in poetry in 2020. He has been conferred First Jayanta Mahapatra National Award on literature in 2024 for his significant contribution in Indian English Writing. His collection of poems ‘Alleys are Filled with Future Alphabets.’ has received Pan Asian Ukiyoto awards.