‘Breathing Incense’ and other poems

By: Gopal Lahiri

Breathing Incense

It’s what speaks to us, that corner, that edge of life
from which emerges
a vitellus of pigment and tinges, like bloody
filigree of bones,
spreading the autumn sky.
the daylight is winding down from the
shouldered hill.
Oleander tree sheds its yellow flowers all over.

A sand mound stands silent,
the sigh of women with screens of grieving
in their voices,
turns into sentient of reality.

There is a dark womb and fatigued body
following those footprints of warriors,
she draws strength from stones,
intent as hound,

A raw grimace of light swallows’ guilt, moving
away from the front,
for no reason, the boat at a distance float through
drowning stars and dead planets.

Splinters

a.

There are things not in the picture.
Away, clouds rises,

The priest is in search of rain frogs,
a silhouette continues its game
of magic and misery.

b.

A line of creepers is on the brick wall
your skin is rich in heritage hue.
flames are in the birds’ eyes.

Red colours shine- I want to shade
between your fingers and a knife.

c.

Before we share our keys
the midday sun looks hard on our face,
we sway in the light breeze,

An emoji returns, hide in the closet,
It smells of surgical gloves.

Spin

This is the black board
I draw my own god and walk away.

Pages yellowed by hands, are gone
nights shift over the wings of bats,

First light is a cry for help.

I do not know
yet tiny birds’ tweets,

Put a fantasy spin on the falling leaves.

Return

One day, I kill a dragon fly and keep her heart
hidden in an iron chest.

I prey to the God asking for clemency,
asking for lightyears of mercy.

Another day, the grey clouds sew
seeds of rain in my swollen eyes.

I paint my narrow corridor wall- a bowl
of dragonflies.

Yet another day,

They drug me and take me to the burial
and when done,

they return to the hyacinth ponds.

Urban Artist

He is an urban artist.
He never complains of hungry belly.

I see every bird is chirping in his canvas
where green and yellow colours
split like lovers,

Shadows may pull of his body now
so that darkness cleaves between his hands,
and enters into nothingness,

The evening beheads itself in disgust.

@gopallahiri

…………………………………………………..

Gopal Lahiri is a bilingual poet, critic, editor, and translator. He has authored 31 books, including eight solo/jointly edited books. His poems are published across more than 100 journals and translated in 18 languages He has been nominated for Pushcart Prize for poetry in 2021. He has received Setu Excellence Award, Pittsburgh, US, in poetry in 2020 and Ukiyoto award for poetry in 2022. He has been conferred First Jayanta Mahapatra National Award on literature in 2024. His last book ‘ Responsive Reviews (Books) ‘ will be published in this month by Virasat Publications.

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