You sing the blues in a soft falsetto
as you walk on the pavement.
Love is the standing note but the words
unclear in ascending syllables.
The yellow desk in my room taps out
stories, towing the long shadows
of sadness into them.
There is nothing between us except
the stoical difference.
Tonight, the moon looks like the
submerged lava.
This is how I see your face and glance,
our breath becomes a mouthful of silver.
Two voices call to one another.
Sky-river is silted now with your words.
.
Gopal Lahiri
@gopallahiri
Picture Nick Victor
.