The trees start whispering as evening comes.
Birds return, one by one, into their nests.
And then, night falls, and all is still
Except the falling leaves and rustling wind;

From my window, I look through the branches
Of the Oak tree into the starlit sky;
An owl hoots in the dark forest,
Leafy, mysterious, the cry of the night;

I stay up late, sleepless, windows open.
Time is tripping by as the soft wind blows.
The voice in my heart hums with joy.
All is well: the world just as it should be.

Diptesh Ghosh

This gray December evening
A bird is singing in the woods.
Happiness, like the bird,
Has entered my heart,
Not knowing it is winter.

My heart opens up
Like a wild flower
In a disused graveyard.

Diptesh Ghosh

Nothing is ever lost; the pebbled brook
White graveled, barren, and all season dry,
Suddenly springs to life with July rains;
The windblown seeds that float on summer days
Like witch’s hair, drop softly on the ground;
Buried in catacombs of earth, they lie
Almost dead, but not quite: when the rain falls
They wake from verdant dreams: They were not lost.

Life does not stop: sometimes it stands frozen.
Though all that you have done may seem wasted,
Though delicate dreams have shattered and your heart
Feels reluctant to leave the broken ruins,
Nothing was lost: your efforts did not fail.
The strongest ice will melt, the sun will shine:
Though love might not find reflection in life
Yet kindness will meet kindness face to face.

Diptesh Ghosh

One day I’ll leave this town for good.
No one shall know I’m gone
Till some trespasser on my lawns
Makes sense of the silence,
The piles of newspapers and mail,
The cobwebbed porch and flourishing weeds.

I would be gone and won’t look back.
I shall seek the future:
The road that’s yet to be traveled,
Mistakes yet to be made,
New towns to wake up in, new friends,
All the stories yet to be told.

And nothing would hold me back.
This free spirit will be
The greatest of all my triumphs;

But since nothing would hold me back
This uncompromised freedom
Will be my only regret.

Diptesh Ghosh

I see you by the fence
Under the yellow Gulmohur;
The summer wind rustles the leaves
And your raven hair has come loose.
Is it night already?

In your orange dress and blue scarf
You have walked out of a painting
By Vermeer; The Street is silent.
If only I could kneel at your feet
And tear open my sorrowful heart.

But you turn to me and smile
And say something about the weather;
All I can do is mumble and nod
And say in a matter-of-fact way,
“It is going to be a fine day”.

Diptesh Ghosh