Debanjan Dhar (14.6.1989 / Calcutta)
Songs from Silver Street
Sweetest words long dead in time,
All stripped of warmth as a phantom’s mime,
Do the glass door act on the stage called mind.
It seems the theater hall is not a place to unwind.
Yet the words beam through blurring rain,
The streetlight excavates the narrowest lane.
The dust and mud give in to the zeal,
Silver Street returns the gift peal after peal.
If ever two windows have shared a thought,
The street cars have probably brought in the rot,
And if the buildings got their hands of pockets
Most of the lonely songs would have turned to duets.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.