By Gopal Lahiri
Sometimes there is a night you just want
to get so far away from,
fire burns out in life’s long years,
memories are plucked, timid words wipe the window
long after the moon reaches its climax.
A strange world of quarantine is slowly
strumming with silence,
there is no paper, no blue ink —
envelopes never arrive, the inbox isn’t loaded with emails
it’s time to live with the lonely shadows.
The archipelago of hospitals empties sad memories,
patients fighting for life with short breaths
trip letters in social distancing,
no flowers, no relatives or friends
a virus attacks inside in a different trajectory.
The first layer of darkness hides the melody of stars
in alleys, in streets, in subways,
rewind the scene of weaning the ventilators.
many dead mothers have left their smiles over the corridor
on the margins of the white washed wall.
Form the undulations of courage and fear
eyes stare at the distant light,
the whispers are carrying alphabets of the dead planets
lying beneath the disposable trough.
there will be another universe to live for.
Gopal Lahiri is a Kolkata- based bilingual poet, critic, editor, writer and translator with 20 books published 13 in English and 7 in Bengali, including three joint books. His poetry is also published in various anthologies and in eminent journals of India and abroad. His poems have been published in 12 countries and translated in 10 languages. He has been invited in several poetry festivals across India.