Tuesday, December 30, 2008

No enough time is with me
I will be unable to reach to you.

In the evening seizing time from busy work
I wish to reach to you
I wish to roam courtyard of your heart
To erase sorrow of heart inscribed within me
I will be unable to reach to you
Hardships of livelihood scattered everywhere

No enough time is to weed it out
Overburden of work is with me!
Bulge is imprinted in my forehead
You cannot see it
Oh, you have underwent operation of your eye!

Your eyes have been penetrated
Inside the intense cave of spectacles
You cannot pierce knot of pains of my heart
Which have became difficult to untied!

Translated from Nepali by Poet

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Chapters of Unnamed Doubts
It has became difficult to believe!
To subside life from its path
While chasing, there suddenly appears
Chapters of doubt
In solitude/ in crowd of people too
In courtyard/ in playing field too
I felt so.

Seasons are alike where it were
Does't want to step forward holding hands of others
Denial of orchid flowers to bloom
In the branches of trees
Whistling of birds crossed the hillocks
A shower of rain failed to wet paddy fields
There is doubt-
Life is still there in portico and courtyard?
Oh, yes-
Denying to concede defeat
Keeping dreams of victory in their mind
Undaunted farmers took their journey
Setting foots in barren paddy fields
With a wishes to make bloom hope
Scenes of bullfights with seasons of doubts there
In the courtyard of heart
Wayfarers are not well acquainted
With the despotic acts of unrestrained seasons.

Also the path of life
Tied with ropes
In sinless neck of bullocks
Death is not so far to wait
It showers with flowers of blood
Weaving garlands in necks.

Has seasons reincarnated!
Keeping implements aside?

Is king of seasons took his bed!
Growing seeds of doubt?

Paths have obstructed borders of hearts
Whose creation is this?
Whose worship is this?

I am thinking kneeling down since long-
Who has created chapters of unnamed doubts?
Translated from Nepali by Poet
Escape from Death
Every evening, a tired body
With walking sticks of dejected moments
Carrying corpse of my own in shoulder
I entered the crematorium
Few hope of life is there?
I try to sense it
I see rays of little hope
I feel mild heartbeat
The door of Yamaraj has not shut down properly
I run out slowly towards life.

Translated from Nepali by Poet