top of page


By Gopal Lahiri

it’s a tiny room, a deserted islet

that stores tales beneath the pillows

like the light switch at night

I find while stroking the wall

where love is, though I do not

understand of beauty thriving

in a place of exile.

vegetables grow outside, flowers blossom

a beehive counts the passing days,

days smell like a ray of light,

writes the allegory of the soul

a moment of increasing joy

and all the time I move my fingers

needling a bloom.


About the author:

Gopal Lahiri is a bilingual poet, critic, editor, writer and translator with 24 books published,

including five jointly edited books. His poetry is also published across various anthologies as

well as in eminent journals of India and abroad. His poems are translated in 16 languages. He

has been nominated for Pushcart Prize for poetry in 2021. He is the recipient of the Poet of

the Year Award in Destiny Poets, UK, 2016, Setu Excellence Award, 2020, Pittsburgh, US

and Indology Life-Time Achievement award, West Bengal, India. His latest collection of

poems ‘Alleys are Filled with Future Alphabets.’ has received wide acclaim. He has

recently edited an anthology of poems ‘ Voices Within’, published by Setu publications, US.

Related Posts

See All

Nosebleeds in the dark

"You said that you were bleeding. the lights were out and i thought it was a joke because you said it like you say everything else."


by Eric Burgoyne ghost guns burner phones stumbling alone over months of disgust vipers hiss then shed dead skin as scales of justice...


by Kapilioha Unwrapped version: sometimes I am a bead of sweat if nothing — the salt my grandmother is about to die does it happen when...


bottom of page