T3 শারদ সংখ্যা ২০২২ || তব অচিন্ত্য রূপ || 26য় Gopal Lahiri

T3 শারদ সংখ্যা ২০২২ || তব অচিন্ত্য রূপ || 26য় Gopal Lahiri

Frozen Ballet

A smile burns and comes through the round canvas drawing a womb on the table cloth. As if a finger runs over my back, an insect get stuck inside, fallen inside my body. Its grin as knowing as its vacant look, my face is falling down in a stone basin, down drunk. Now that I am amber, I am red, rising in flames, in my deep, most hidden face, in underground, enclosures separate me and the darkness forever. How much time you contain in the beady eye? an hourglass in my hand, a place of refuge- sand increasing and dwindling all at once. It is right here, the ending, you circle around, the figures are whirling yet still in a frozen ballet.

Word Filling

Words are filling the broken wall I try to sleep. The balance is never made. I drop the bowl of laughter in dream smell the earth in my palm, the heart beats faster and faster. Warm as the fire, the low whispers conspire to disappear in silence, correcting the dialectics of night. Time is indifferent to history.