This country
Still warm with the blood of common people
Spilled during the People’s War
Stands on the corpses
Of murdered kings and prime ministers
People, old and young
These and those
Wait for the emancipation
With eternal sadness in their eyes
And make stories, within grim fogs
That there is no hope for the country
Once cursed by a virtuous woman
This country
Survived wars and political scheming
Throughout the written history of 1500 years
But is haunted by the 16th century legend
That a woman, whose courtier husband was murdered
Had cursed that there is no hope for Nepal
The Buddha is mum
He who preached about ahimsha and non-violence
Witnessed deaths and killings
Of men and women, children and teens
During the decade of Nepalese Civil War
The rivers swell and wash away settlements
Mountains and hills fall and bury villages
Poverty stricken people
Look at the Gods and Goddess expectantly
Do they know, the deities just the wood, stone and metal?
The rocks at the Trishuli River
Shore cave into the shore
And devours the rafters
Who belong to the another world
Mountaineers are lost
Within the intricacies of the Everest and Annapurna
In the wildlife reserves and national parks
Rhinos and tigers move little farther
Poor elephants
They will have to carry the white man’s burden again
The country is throttled
By the flood, by undesired happenings
By the landslides, by political wrangling
By earthquakes, by schemes and designs
However, the evening settles peacefully
The day begins peacefully.
I, a piece of Nepal’s children
Come out to play with life
Walk across rubbles, alongside corpses
And avoid broken statues of Buddhist and Hindu deities
The fang of loneliness
Penetrates deep
The eternal sadness everywhere.
