Friday, July 26, 2019


Cocoon

There are no stories,

Here each night is mundane and lonely
The featherless night-birds spread their wings.

The moment I’m looking for is buried,
Beneath the dark staircase,

Each wound I polish on the secret stone shines
In false lights; it’s nostalgic too,

And strangely when a lizard cry
The moon goes behind the clouds,

There is a warm darkness throughout the house.

Every musical note now holds its own in silence,

The broken wall scribbles the forgotten words.
Corridors are filling up with selected alphabets,

A new world waits on the rooftop’s ledge.

@gopallahiri
………………………………………………………………………………



Moments

I know what I have to do now,
Each cell demands a winnable fight,

Not knowing the fallouts,
The twilight stripped down to a lean ray,

Running water’s edge-
The tall grass caressing fingers,

Evening breeze comes like a healer
But the darkness lingers in spine, in iris,

With lofty promise and deep learning
come some unknown peril,

Memories spin and at the end teach me
Something that I never care to listen.

Knowing moments are temporary,
I pick one by one and blow them away.

@gopallahiri



Memory Box

All my past shadows have been stored here in this room,
Childhood stories let the visitors in,

A box at the corner, unused clothing, silver ornaments,
Grandma’s sarees embrace those woven threads,

Striking floral fabric with red border
And a grace that never goes out of style,

Cracked weather bitten hands always caring,
Beneath those glistening eyes, there are pools,

The low notes of the evening songs
Played with violin, rest quietly on the dust and dirt
Of the window sill,

The blurred black and white photos on the wall
Reminisce dew laden morning and tweets of the tiny birds,

Long, slim, little boats are as if floating haystacks
Moored on the water, overlooking the crumbling patio,

There is no tedium in the shallows of the river.

Still curious are the pigeons on the iron railings
Not a word they use in despair, in hidden tears.

@gopallahiri

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Thursday, February 22, 2018

Fall Furioso

Fall Furioso 

Just around the corner 
Dewey leaves and dawn mist

a leaf tumbles
From its weary branch
Gold and rust
It twists
Swirls and rocks
Vivid canvas 
Fall through the almost still.

Inhale the winds breath .

Something of the fire almost
Amber to orange to red
In flame.

Say goodbye, 
strong breeze and million cries
Reveal morsels of skin.

Another time
Another breeze touching first sound
Envious eyes on back.

Let that happen again
Let it be inhaled in the toasty warm of
The parting fragrance 
.......

Sunday, April 24, 2016



After so many months
I come to know
I am here

playing with the tall trees
in silence 
on the bank of 
a serene river 

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Living Voices


A few fresh petals
Each a growing thing
Sometimes to be shed, someone else
Make them heard
In the morning walk.

Much for others, others
Who may be silenced,
Mutate to white wings
And bird song is riddled
With long and short questions.

Somehow numbed, erased
The footprints are still asking
For living voices
As if in a dream, listening
Consenting, time to fill in alone.