POETRY EDITOR ANANYA S GUHA’S NOTE: Goirick Brahmachari’s poems are full of sensations and distinct images of the natural world. These ‘night poems’ are palpable sensations and evoke a world which has an endearment to the writer. An exceptionally talented poet Goirick will soon come out with his first collection. Savour these poems and watch out for him in the future years to come!
Imagining night on a dead, drunk morning
Moon jumps out of the snow-capped mountains.
At McLeod, trees speak only after midnight.
As Olafur breezes
through the shivering memories and goose bumps,
A town falls asleep.
It snores emptiness.
Night has asked us to wake her up
for she wants to listen to the snow melt.
I count the distance the moon has travelled.
and wait for the night to fall asleep again.
The wind is so cold that you could
turn this night into a stone.
Moons licks the hills white.
Many rivers look away.
Too much travel
has made me old and weary.
is a whore.
Fat trucks make love to lonesome roads
I and the night sing to the morning.
We choose our parts carefully.
She prefers Soprano.
I hesitate, but take the bass
A thousand cellos hallucinate.
Morning mocks our collective deaths.
memories are like short wave radio stations
they bring tears from a distant hill
rain has forgotten its name years ago
then, the night escaped her
mist tastes the sky in blur
hills cradle trees to sleep
A river has travelled through the night.
Moon adores its reflection.
A night train has lost its way into the forest.
It glides through memories and haze.
Night wears a burqa by the hills.
She dreams of elephant trunks
and bow string winters.
Winter makes love to non-livings things
Night apes a woman
Keeps hills at dark
from her desires
fireflies mock the moon
or the absence of it
the river has aged
does not confess
the day waits
to get back to work.
Night contemplates death
and a river
when the moon plays Holi
and the mustard are all yellow
apple trees are white
it is in these sort of nights
when many nights choose to die.
Night grows over you like a bad headache
it eats your brain cells
and cleans your memory
There is no room for misery if you are faking it
Night has grown old in you
she spies on you when you sleep
Sometimes only a day can save you
help you forget.
Goirick Brahmachari lives in New Delhi, India. He hails from Silchar, Assam. His poems have appeared in North East Review, Nether Magazine, Pyrta Journal, Raedleaf Poetry, Coldnoon Quarterly, Reading Hour, The Four Quarters Magazine and Vayavya. His articles and film reviews have appeared in Economic and Political Weekly, The Hindu, The Shillong Times. The poems first appeared in Ucity Review.