Subhadip Majumdar Poems

Often beneath the Lighthouse

Where the mystery ends and the magic starts
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A half moon and a garaged rickshaw
The stop beneath the silent bridge
And the last tram passes away with midnight bells.
Sometimes I roam there
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Again the bell tolls. Somewhere far away from a distant Church. The cold winds pass and the feet sinks into the fallen leaves within the ornamented flowers and the scattered petals on the brown soil.
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Then the evening will slowly turn into the night and we would walk down the steps through the arch gate and the ageless pillars to the ruins. There will be a pause in converse.
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