Poetry by Gopal Lahiri
You don’t seem hard-pressed anymore.
Is it the separation or a new found glory?
The winter sun trails behind the cold wind.
It wipes the teardrops on your cheek.
The wall of the temple shines a little low
And the feather of the falcon,
The cruel song unheard, unnoticed.
The silken voice, I like
And the curves in your profile
Recalls a lengthy conversation.
Left an impression, the shadows
Migrated us to the broken roof top
We were left with a very few words.
They cannot follow the hidden path now.
More to Read in Women’s Special
Hidden Path – by Gopal Lahiri
