City Light

Gopal Lahiri


with only
a guitar,
a small wooden table
with a broken doll,
as you tell me
a smiling face
tamed in a cage.

sit down on a stone step
of the yellow mansion
in Lake Terrace,
the emptiness
breaking
on the wrinkled face
to ease the meaning
of the boredom.

a wavering mind,
a few low toned words
from the waning traffic,
coming from the glass window
retracing, crisscrossing,
so matter of fact
over the dry skin.

waiting, counting moments
finite measured itself
with infinity,
dissecting docile
conversations
with a slow and serious pace.

leaving behind the
cursive script,
decanted arguments,
listless city life
crawls in search of
the starlit night.


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