Two Poems by Gopal Lahiri

Hatshepsut*

In low light

the city museum walls

 

describe

a crime scene.

 

smashed statues-

broken neck, waist, knees,

 

the desecrated relief

of a female pharaoh

 

like a spiteful erasure

legitimize a male heir,

 

a correction against

the female power,

 

like a chaotic puzzle

refused to be solved

 

 

(*a female pharaoh in ancient Egypt)

 

City Pulsation

A potholed street learns only to redraw

the silhouettes, a needle is tying the threads,

early birds mistaking the signposts

the tombstones, the graveyards

that this city can boast.

 

You go to Globe Cinema, New Market,

rip open the memories of British Raj,

serpentine lanes clogging with traffic

open the city’s precious bones with your hands

and deposit in the Indian Museum.

 

You walk past Lal Bazar’s untangling silence,

amidst the rising echo of expletives

in the slum areas beside the old

art gallery, lonely sidewalks,

you want to speak in half-knowledge but

find no one to save from desertion.