Each night is mundane and lonely.
Night-birds spread their wings.
The moment I’m looking for is buried
beneath the black soil.
Each wound I polish on the secret stone
shines in false light: there is nostalgia too.
When the lizards cry
the moon goes behind swelling clouds.
There is a thick silence you can lean against.
The city is laconic the way it was centuries ago.
The broken walls scribble: alleys are filled
with future alphabets.
A certain beauty is waiting on the street
with something that cares, that cultivates.
This is a reprint of work originally published in Verse-Virtual.
Gopal Lahiri is a bilingual poet, critic, editor, writer and translator. He is the author of 21 books published mostly (13) in English and a few (8) in Bengali, including four jointly edited books. His poems have been published across various journals and anthologies. Recent credits: Ink Sweat & Tears, Verse-Virtual, Harbinger Asylum, Borderless Journal, Spillwords, Indian Periodical, Setu, Muse India, GloMag and elsewhere. He has attended various poetry festivals in India and abroad. He is published in 12 countries and in 10 languages. He lives in Kolkata, India.