Gopal Lahiri
Bilingual poet,
critic, editor, writer & translator
Kolkata, India
Behind the horizon
the light is spraying.
the sky trembles like a tear,
as if aurora lights
open,
the feathered summer withers.
through the leaves a forlorn dew is falling down.
Moving from one
place to another
the moons ride over
planets in a canvas,
the colour of
love-red roses draws some design
deadened by the
weight of weighting,
in my dreams of
bleeding sunshine..
Of the earth
groping to its roots
quenching the
thirst of the unmarked soil,
it’s the heightened
senses that reveal
an infirmary of
flowers of the field
cast out from the
new paradise.