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November 18, 2024
"Mes de los Muertos"

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By Gopal Lahiri

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A sparrow sits on the parapet,
before our eyes        the clouds carry all the whiteness.

Outside veins are heading towards yearning,
I have stopped holding up walls        of broken embraces.

As I close your window        a handful of sky moves from
one planet to the next.

We reach the edge        write seven alphabets under the eyelids
street lights shed their skin.

I continue the search,
ivy strangling in a fence        the red ants seeking earth.

The evening skies        repeat a smile that burns
and comes through unknown stars.






Article © Gopal Lahiri. All rights reserved.
Published on 2022-06-13
Image(s) are public domain.
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