March 14, 2017 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION



Gopal Lahiri



Still surviving





Chaos silence boredom.

The angels return from the dark shadows

Empty handed.


Still surviving.

Canary yellow flowers.


Still we ride on the speeding bus,

preaching adorable love.


Still we hurry back home

Listen to the rain song.


Morning licks up the darkness.





Weak or strong,

on a piece of paper

the third world economy slowly

Unbutton her secrets.


They teach us

Stock market sliding,

all efforts will be futile.


Fight within

Where to touch, when,

Skin deep scars in both hands.


Back breaking poverty

Starvation doesn’t understand

the rise of GDP growth rate.


Inhumanity loneliness destitution.


Each stone scripts stories.

Each bird records silence


all the shades of green turn brown

Waiting to destroy the world.








All that’s left



the local train departs slowly

I see the birds fly past overhead

Green and red, tiny, twitting

Going somewhere. I look at my watch


Sharp three thirty in the afternoon.

See a few steel-eyed crows and daily labourers,


who linger late after lunch. Dark clouds

Hovering and a twitch in the

Smile of those who predicts rain today.


The tall tree near the leafy road crossing

Know my bones very well. Comforted and cared

I remember the mantras chanted by the

Priest in a nearby temple, out past the flower garden

not long ago, the little flower nursery has

pinned a paper boat to my shoulder.


Riverbeds long dried up, now only sand mounds.

There is no hurry, it isn’t time yet

to move backward or forward to a destination

still my head whirls with countless thoughts.


Some silent, hidden voices,

sometimes you hear, sometimes not.

I take my loneliness with me, still chasing dark shadows.











In a hyperbolic move

The black bird flares up

With the flash of wings

Falling, turning away

Makes her own path,


Let it happen like a

Pause on a wooded trail

Or be soothed by river water,


Every figure inhales

Cold intake air,

Embraces the blue sky

Flying to reach Manhattan skyline,


Time to look inside

A wavering pulse closing off,

The emptiness gone,


I wish beneath the black skin

The knives and weapons

Turn into cherry flowers












Gopal Lahiri

Gopal Lahiri was born and grew up in Kolkata. He is an earth scientist by profession (passed out from Presidency College, Kolkata) and currently lives in Mumbai. He is a bilingual poet, writer, editor, critic and translator and widely published in Bengali and English language. He has five poetry collections in Bengali. His English poetry collections include Silent Steps, Living Inside and Tidal Interlude. and five POD books published from USA. Anthology appearances (among others) includes National Treasures, Indus Valley, A posy of poesy, Concerto, Poet’s paradise, My dazzling Bards, The Silence within, East Lit, Indo-Australian Anthology, The Dance of the Peacock, Illuminations. His works have featured in journals Indian Literature, Taj Mahal Review, CLRI, Haiku Journal and electronic publications Arts and Letters, Eastlit, Grey Sparrow Journal, Dead Snake, Underground Window, Muse India, Poetry Stop, Setu, Debug. He has jointly edited the anthology Scaling Heights. He was awarded Poet of the Year, 2015 by Destiny Poets’ International Community of Poets, Wakefield, U.K.


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