Even the currents of river-water
Was stopped—
By the pond
By the lagoon or by the lake
At least,
It was to reach the sea
That’s why,
It became the cloud,
Didn’t the rain
Drench the dusk that rested in the summit
And twilight sun-beams.
Wasn’t it translated
Into the dewdrops: from this journey
To that voyage; from here
To that vime infinite
With all the parting ages, with all the boundaries
To the will to reach. And
The will to depart. And
To the desires of lodging that night in the far horizon.
Blue furs of the sky
Were our delicate dream some days
Were foothills and hilltops in the journey
Were stopped somewhere
Being our station or destination.
I translate myself
Into the images and form: which were portrayed there.
What a thing you are! I can’t even recognize
The tree of Frondosa of Rhododendron flower
The red Roses or
The white, purple flowers—
What a piece of thing you are!
Monasteries—
Rooftops, shelters and caves!
Station or destination of the journey
Forget it.
If I’m water
I’ll flow in the voyage
If you’re water
Then—
You’re an addiction lá Marijuana.
Transcreated by: Kumar Nagarkoti
Musical instruments sound well.
There, I merges into depths
Hills and mountains merge with me
When the instruments are played
Echoes transmit
-The pious tune
-The blissful rhythms
- The auspicious tranquility
Well,
some insiders land
At the airport in the same tranquility-
some,
Hatch out from
Mother's enclosed womb
Today,
someone breathed a long breath
In the clarinet
somebody,
Made a long departure: somewhere
Music whisperes in silent echoes
As if to welcome the guest unknown.
Melodies shiveres-
And, the predominant body fell down into the earth
There are too many meanings
Engraved into the symphonies-
Music can be heard
While listening to autumnal wind
Nowadays-
Music is heard in the dressing-room
of some master musician
Music can be rendered
Even by the fingers of a young lady
Who practises sitar
Perhaps,
Someone from the distant world
Has summoned his melodies
With musical-notation of the past time
Today,
Someone is to bid farewell
To somebody: for perhaps, ages.
Is a friend
or a relative unknown?
The symphonic-melodies
Which tune, are neither
The beginning
Nor the end.
But when I hear the doleful sound of shahanai
I feel concious of the work I'm involved in.
Today,
Someone is to welcome somebody
Seeking joys within anger management.
With tears
In our eyes
We are to bid
Farewell: to someone...
Owl
As if waking suddenly
Over the branch of night
Hiding black rosy dreams
Of the yellow sunset
Well ahead of the red sunrise,
Opened the dilating
meditative but piercing eyes
And
Smearing unpolluted red soil1
Of the fresh light
Descending slowly from snowy peaks
To the meadows and low hills
And to the countryside
Shaking off the residue of sleep with wings
From the wood of the dark
Untiring singer of the warbling light
Drew the wild rooster closer
And said loudly in his ear—
'Light in darkness! Light in darkness!
You can no longer sing like this
The eternal song of the sun—
Listen to me
And again the sun can't be equally important
Always, at every place, with everybody!
Burnt at once
In this narrative
With the radiant amber
Of the resolute truth
Awakened in the darkness before time
Like the pure but little blemished light
The rooster
Cutting with the sharp beak of his own pen
Pulled the sun suddenly from out of the own blazing sky
Of everlasting epic saga
Unendingly written
And threw it out
To some other boundless horizon again
Shocked by the electric charge
Of this sudden
Unthinkable but
Actual incident
The owl closed his eyes even in the dark
And said to the rooster
With all humility—
"Oh dark-throated one2
You who drink upon all the black poison
Of the darkness
I see
You are unbound Mahakala
Though tied with the rope of time
You are not one who only writes poem
But also a great epic poet Who lives it out in life!'
On the other side,
At this moment of time
The rooster was staring
With unblinking eyes
Helplessly
At the defenceless sun
He'd thrown himself earlier
Into the sky
Into the fathomless sea of darkness,
Drowning and floating,
To tell the truth
The sun cut off from his own sky
Had long drowned into the night
Exhausted from swimming!
Translated by Abhi Subedi
1.The floor is smeared with red unpolluted to purify it for holy practices
2 Lord Shiva is said to have drunk the deadly poison that came out of the churning of the ocean by the gods and demons, to save the world. The effect of the poison was so strong that his throat became blue or nil. So he is called nilakantha, or blue-throated deity. The poet changes this into kalkantha or 'dark-throated' to describe the state of drinking poison.
I cannot take off myself like my own jacket
To be free from respite and dust
The spots and the scars that belong to me and others
Of the limbs and the faces.
Neither can I unstitch it
Like the seams of my clothes
Let me think a new sketch of a new creation
Let me ask the limitation of old creation.
The dust flies –flies from my own steps
Scars and faces float my identity
And boundaries are marked by my own fatigue.
Getting lost? Where is that place to get lost?
Overcrowded with identities in this place
Floating with faces in this place
How brittle is our sleep
I stack it with my sleep
In one after another night.
It is a spider's web
How flimsy!
How beautiful!
I should not scream
Nor even shout loud
It ruptures inside the mind itself
It deforms inside the mind itself.
What my mind looks like?
O! How it rumples
The surface of my satisfaction
Satisfaction which was not sown in the same place
And which did not take the same form
Desire which grew like a fish
And grew more and more feeding on small fishes.
Limit which undulates wrapping up the fish
Wrapping up the whole pond.
The spreading of effulgence all over the sky
As if my eyes are pond,
I am accepting
Just be drowsy from tireness
From my face.
The rising and the setting of the sun
Is just waking and sleeping
It is demarcation
That I have not been able to tie to my limbs,
It is my compensation to wake up
As walking is an encroachment
Over my limitations
And the limitation of my birth
That creates demarcation for years.
Silence and static is a death
We are just seed
Which gave off shoots and branches
Amidst our whisper.
We, the lonely seed
Stand in incertitude under the shade of our own tree
In the shadow of our desires.
This is Buddha's bodhitree
And this is Buddha's exile.
Chosen by these eyes
In these pregnant days,
These strumpet days have thus been eloped
– come, let us walk and walk
Burying ourselves beneath seasons and climes.
– Before someone is born,
– Before we recognize someone else in our own shape,
Let these not sprout
Next year, next day, and even next moment.
"You really are a spark!"
Let the vegetation here catch fire.
Let us not awaken with our voice
Our consciousness that is swooning
Let us rather sleep with our own burden
In these moments and days
To prolong the swoon,
To forget the meaning in delirium.
There is no dream sprouting sleep in our eyes,
There is no voice in making our speech, on the story.
Just forgetfulness reverberates
When we are hanging on the tree
That has neither branch nor leaf,
When we are flowing with the waves of ribs.
This forgetfulness,
This is dependence on somebody else's womb;
We gave birth to infinite progeny
To forget ourselves
And to be exiled to the Lakshagriha1
We did not die,
We still have the blessings we saved for you;
We are always trapping the days
That run loose from you.
To relieve our burden ourselves.
In this muddy water –hole of forgetfulness
I did not see my own reflection!
In these eyes
Diana's naked body spreads over,
O! I am being transformed from my own form
And my dogs are turning into wolves.
Let us run from here
And let us run away from here
Let us push these days into the water hole
Or let them all commit suicide.
This body sticky with sweat
Feels for a gust of cold air,
O! this evil genie
And these sick days
This stinking water –hole, O!
How it spreads over my own body,
– All over the house,
– All over the bed,
In these days,
In these evening
And in the incubation of sleep,
We who have grown bloom into a bad smell
And cuddle up like oblivion
In this thick and hard bed.
The mattress is already dirty,
Come, come, let us leave
And like a witch let us light a flame
On each of our ten fingers –
To gain victory over our desire.
This criminal oblivion
Clears up in the eyes as a water –hole.
How dim this sun!
Will I be able to wait here
Until seven suns rise in the sky?
Life is a crime
And remembrance is a crime,
And our these innocent eyes
That carry on one crime after another,
Run after these criminal days,
Let us adorn them, adorn all these
And let us offer presents to the lovers here.
Let these become palanquins for their marriage!
Life is a crime
Do not ask what all murders we committed?
And whom we exiled?
We
These our poor loves,
Come let us fly them into the sky
Like pigeons
And clap our hands
And clap to forget everything.
1. Lakshagriha: Literally means house of Lac. In the Mahabharat, Duryodhana ordered a beautiful palace to be constructed out of highly inflammable materials and invited the five Pandava brothers, their wife and their mother to pass some time in this forest resort. At night, heavily guarding all the exits of the palace, he ordered it to be burnt down. The Panadava, however, escaped through a tunnel.
Usually
I am not in myself
In this light where even insects
Awaken
With these few marks of identification
I am used to introducing myself
And similarity
I claim to know everyone
Yes, whenever I am not in myself
Instead
Better is that dark night
Spilled over itself
When I alone
sequester myself from my busy world
Separate myself from my marks of identification
Then
Yes, I am in myself
Free from restraints
I am all by myself
Sometimes
I am in myself
Let this spear-tipped stream flow on..
the gullies of my eyes greening your fields
Let this crop of pain ripen,
this harvest ripening from wounds
You and I? Let's
enjoin ourselves in friendship
Always!
How engaging!
Before dark where the forked road joins I ran into you
Before I knew what was happening, you raped me
Then and there, witness of this cruel intimacy,
drops of virgin blood spread on the gravel of the crossroads
like an unclaimed corpse
At each moment
every day
be it morning or night
every minute
coming & going time & again
those strains return to me
my memory of you
Violation!
From the outset
your every thrust
blazed as fire,
tore through the skin as thorns do,
pierced as a blade,
appeared as the night of the dark moon
But these days
your every stroke,
a mere touch,
and as for my self
I've become
the oven that contains the flame,
the bush that raises up thorns,
the sheath that holds the blade,
fangs for the cobra's deadly poison,
darkness of the night that swallows the moon
Like a tigress tamed in the circus,
a female snake soothed by the charmer's tune,
wound, so quickly was I transformed in you
Now you and I
have become nail & flesh,
miser and money,
footpath and footsole
Tread upon me with all your thieves & robbers
For this is certain: you'll tire, not me!
Let the variegated wishes for life germinate in me
be winnowed by your stormy guts. Finish it! Destroy!
Wound! Maul and smother me
Lick me with your slathering flames
For I convert your force I'm hardened to it
Where you store your weaponry of thrust and violation,
I burrow and hide, grazed from all sides by your firing guns
flameburst upon flameburst everywhere in every corner
But it is surely so, violator
Violation! tearing your ears, listen
Your armory will be emptied- I will not
Your armory will be emptied- I will not
Your face has been scratched
So that it bleeds,
Can this be the work of kind claws?
Your back has been stabbed with a dagger
All the way inside,
Is this a pure steel blade?
Different spots of your stomach
Have been the target of bullets,
Were these fired from an imported rifle?
You are bleeding all over
And shouting with agony,
Is this an extract
From the national anthem?
Your lips are chafed,
Your eyes are dry,
Your cheekbones are prominent,
The skin on your forehead is taut,
The fingers of your hands are shaking,
Your knees are turned in,
Have all your dear ones returned
From the torture house?
Like a yam-
Between two giant stones,
The road is pressed
Betwixt footpaths.
I'm standing by zebra-crossing
stepping down from footpath
To cross the road
Because,
one has to step down from the footpath
To reach the road—
And to reach the time,
one has to turn the needle of clock-tower opposite
Into the darkness of fog
Vehicles come and go
with the flashing of headlights
Throughout the day
In the pages of history,
-like dacoits
-like murderers
-like robbers
But,
People are crossing the road
Infront of my eyes:
They stop the vehicles
And cross the road
someone sees the vehicles confused
Takes benefit of the opportune
And crosses the road
Some see the vehicles as the herd of simpletons
They shiver, run away-
And while running away unconsciously
cross the road
some-
Trying to make martyr out of themselves
Try to stop vehicles
Drinking an alchol of hostility
On the road
And making a queue
They try to form a wall of pathfinders
In the secured distance of
civilization-
Discipline-
Peace,
Breeding the chickens
In the boughs my heart
I'm standing,
simply standing...
And-
I'm standing for my turn
To cross the road, like a dejected
Lover waiting for the joys of life.
Don't put me down as a muddy track,
don't I reach the hills and fields,
don't I reach the solitudes and towns?
I go to where roads end
and where roads are
entering the highways,
I disappear there,
striding forward in the heart.
Evening sometimes rests on my shoulder
and sometimes the dawn,
moonlight sometimes rests on my shoulder, and sometimes the sun
sometimes a fog, the dew,
the stars rest on my shoulder.
Emptiness............ emptiness............ultimate
emptiness
in a gigantic cage
locked vehicles keep rolling
transporting empty passengers
transporting empty breasts
in the silence one hears wails
and sobs
covered volcanoes
in the emptiness, lives and
deaths
become accursed
Lives are making merry
deaths are joking and jesting
from close up all re-examine the
other
carrying pathetic laughter
piercing with frightful cries
From the space between fingers
pitiful life peeks out
death peeks out as well
In a voice that breaks in unison
from the gutter
life also flows
life also flows
voices cry in unison
voices slice time
(perform an operation)
Don't get in a frenzy to kill the
foetus
before ray of hope get to shine
don't get in a range to set the dam
before tides of emotion get to
flow
Allow life to play without thought
for propriety
shattering the long silence
allow life to play without thought for propriety
shattering the long emptiness
breaking the long silence
allow life to turn over
allow life to gain new dimensions
To make anticipation rest
the nerves have begun tingling
insensibility has begun to take hold
Play with such forces that all the
strings break
don't let life get intoxicated
Sing with such power that the raga breaks
don't let life become insensible
Don't let emptiness quash
Don't let silence prickle
colour life by playing
the strings of a guitar
Break the emotions by rubbing
the sharp strings of a sitar
So that all becomes bloody-
Make life awake from the dream
realms
with the piercing of instrument
strings
Come, demolish the emptiness.
Awakening from a dream.
Oh! who's trying to break
through again
-these soft waves
Oh! Why are they laughing again
-these frightful deaths
Look! Those who plot to take life
by tricking it into laughter
Look! Those who plan to take
life
By flirting with life
Look! Those who think of taking
life
by playing with life
There...look
There...look
Death just sauntered by
leaving behind anticipation
Death just turned away
taking with it sweet hope.
We're all alone, She
And I
A galloping night lodges at a distance
And a solitary battlefield
Nearby
we're to fight a war
somewhere there silently
Everyone wills to win war
But let alone me
I've to lose this battle
In a single touch of solitude
She shrinks like
A touch-me-not plant
In the single darkish nocturnal intercourse
She clothes herself with the spring-garments
And,
She rains down
With heavy torrents of July
Into the casket of her small heart
She evaporates like the holy river
Within the warmth of one's consoling heart
I don't know
Which war I fought and whence.
I know nothing-
Whether stepped back surrendering myself
or stepped ahead
Comouflaging myself like a veteran warrior
Just for the rememberance,
I simply remember
A pair of helpless heart
And some gloomy glances
After the electrifying lightening in the space
All of sudden-
A silent peace
Befalls and spreads everywhere
On the ground
What a queer thing!
Before pronouncing the war
Into the notation of turmpets and conch-shells
There ends
Our melody of promises
One had to fight to win
Because-
The definition of warfare is still the same
Like an antique civilization.
War had to be war-like atleast
One should have fought inorder to be superior
The war: indeed I fought
but to lose-
Lipstic kating linear smiles into the mosaic lips
When landed in the battle field
I was a human
But metaphorically transformed into the venemous demon
Within a short interval
Blocking my way
My own reflection feels ashamed its own existence
Which reflect in the mirror-
Watching me like this
My heart dies in shyness with my being.
Making a comradeship with my own shadow
That outsider
Who resides within me
is laughing at me
making a friendship with the anti-clock time of mine
That outsider
Who lodges into my imagination
Is following me
disillusioning me
betwitching me every moment
Everyone has to fight a battle
Everyone has to win
But
Sans fighting a battle
I,
exhausted and dislocated in life
am saying unto you:
-Forget it,
I've to lose
This unceremonial battle
For ever
&
Ever.....
Heated Sun
Decorates the day
But, is in the quest of coolness.
Shattered Moon
Shines in the dark
But, lands at the night’s clutches.
Dark cloud
Shakes the world by its roars
But, enthralls with the rain blares.
Shrivelled water
Tries to quench the thirst
But, cries remembering athirst.
Severed Dream
Rejects the eyes
But, keeps –on awaiting for the evening.
Untallied Wishes –
– Setting the shadow free from the light
– Snatching the heat from the day –bright
– Squeezing the current from the night
* Are entrusting happiness to the clouds
* Are making waters sans speed
* Are rejecting even the dreams
To burst like a storm;
To float like steam,
Pervading the space
From the bottom of the sea
To the farthest point of heaven!
To flow by itself
Carving its own way ceaselessly;
To move forward like water,
Always restless, always new,
Overcoming all obstacles,
Ripping the rocks apart,
Crumbling the hills,
And carrying the debris along
That's what I like most of all,
To map out my own destiny.
Let me be colourless, clean and lovely.
Let me be formless.
Why should I limit myself to a form?
Let me be broad-minded, extremely broadminded.
Why should I confine myself to a definition?
Should circumstances and compulsion
Bedim me for some time,
Let me again be pure and clean like before,
Bereft of all stains.
If I were forced to stagnate,
Let me commingle and make one with nature,
Let me rise above myself so high
That I may, with love and compassion,
Impregnate even the hard rock,
With a new lease of life.
If city prospers
Country will Prosper too,
Say the city folk.
If it rains this year
Village will prosper too,
Say the village folk.
A man from the city,
Halting his car on the road,
Asks a villager-
How are the crops this year?
The villager moves forward
And replies:
Crops are all right.
But tell me-
Can our sweat fill up
The tank of your car?
Village and City (Pondering on the deteriorating global environment)
Avinash Shrestha
Much before the teacher made me
learn the alphabets
My mother had already introduced to me:
trees
birds
sky
rivers
men
and
woods
Birds were the friends of trees
The sky, guardian of the birds
Rivers kith to the sky,
And men, river’s kin
Woods were the co-walkers of men
And when the woods whistled, came the autumn
When the woods sighed started the winter
And
Hearing the wood’s symphonic choir
Bloomed the spring everywhere.
The spring had innumerable army of flowers
Battalions of tens of thosands of butterflies had
The invisible platoons of fragrances
And
Garlanding the service-medals of colourful rainbow
round the breast
the glamorous environment—clicks to smile.
My childhood days
Were much delicate like the land of anon fairy tales.
Today,
Kindling the thirty-ninth candle of life
I stand on this earth
No better than a huge pile of garbage
And I am searching
Those angle-like
trees
birds
sky
rivers
man
and
woods
whither have they all gone?
Whither have gone those hero-like trees of fairy tales?
Those birds which looked like flowers
blooming on the boughs?
The youthful sky ornamented with colourful birds?
The clean running rivers with sky on its breast?
Men, who viewed the divinity,
And were never satisfied adoring the rivers?
And the woods which handed the civilization
on human palm?
Whither are they all now?
I know
My great grand children will question me
Tomorrow
Children of my great grand children will curse
And their posterity will
Draw my monstrous images
I couldn’t protect
Trees of their share
Birds of their share
The unspoiled crystal blue sky
of their share
I couldn’t save
For the coming human race
The leopard-like energetic and swift rivers
Men with inborn tolerance living before
The evolution of devilish teeth
Woods like blessings always to live together
The mother of my great grand children’s child
Talking to her minor son
Will first of all introduce
The desert sprawled like sorrow
And tell:
Baba, my darling,
Your great grandfathers were short-sighted devils
Your great ancestors were insolent monsters
You’ve to try to be a man, darling
Try to be a man…
In your town
Skyscrapers’ roof overshadow the sun
People overshadow people
The Sun setting is unnoticed
The Sun rising is not wanted
Electric fan throws artificial air
Famine of fresh air and water
Neither friendship
Nor unity
Neither assistance
Nor affection
Diesel gas overlaps eyes and lungs
Street dust disturbs respiration
Your barren city contains
Merely buildings
Mutual hatred
And apprehension
None bear identity
None Bear reliability
Heartiness depicted on face
Just a painting of enamel
Treacherous poison in practice
Your city brings
Banana trunk from rustic zone
And makes gate
Thieves marigold and chrysanthemum
And celebrates Tihar
Shakes thigh fearfully
As I propose a talk to proper village
We produce paddy
He determines price and holds the balance.
How civilization decays
Have a look at city
How absurdities multiply
Have a look at city.
Translator: Suresh Hachekali
Everyday the hot sun comes down
and sits on the potomac
disturbing the peace of the river.
Angry vapors fly upward, mingling with sun-rays.
Sitting on the bank of the Potomac
I watch the naughty sun playing with the sand.
Each evening the moon falls down,
and toys with the Potomac's breasts and
impregnates her. The Potomac gives birth to
one thousand little moons and
incomparable everlasting scenes.
The sad night brings darkness to the bank of the Potomac.
On my way home,
the shining beauty of the Potomac stirs my memory.
I am walking about
at such a moment,
that any moment, well timed or otherwise,
can burst unawares.
I will then,
the moment
following the explosion,
in that tranquility
shouldering humans in a burlap bag,
probably be trudging about alone on the earth.
On the earth then,
will dawn a queer morning.
The eyes will be filled with sunshine anew.
in the aftermath of the explosion,
the moment will solely be mine alone.
Alone in the cradle,
playing with oneself,
left in its own world,
the moment as that of a neonate
can be a bright one,
can be a gloomy one.
Inside the cage of my mind
Are fluttering these wings of mine
As the free sky
Peeps in at me from outside
But I can't fly out.
The wings just teat about
In response to an unthinking instinct.
My minds tries
To fly out for a while;
But it can't, it just can't;
Only my fancies and feelings
Succeed where it fails,
And my mental horizon
Shrinks within itself.
I had better not have these wings,
If I am to be condemned
To live within the confines
Of this cage all my life.
Panicked, my mind wishes
To circle round and round
Beneath the blue dome of heaven;
But, helpless, I've to shrink back
Into the cage again,
And to swing between I know not
What virtue and vice.
In spite of the loud, outcries
Of the blue sky outside,
I'm surrendering myself
Inside the cage of my mind
Like an unarmed fighter.
I'm not strong enough
to win the war,
And to re-capture the lost territory;
So, like a warrior
To whom victory is denied,
I capitulate quietly
Inside the cage of my closed mind,
In spite of the strong protest of my ego.
The Street, near my home
Was once
My neighbourhood
Where I grew-up
with my peer group
It was secure and pleasant
Now this street
has become like a battle field
Dead bodies wrapped in white cloth
crosses the street in solemn funeral procession
Scream and shrieks of pain and agony
has disrupted the peace in my street
It's and awful environment
Unpredictable blasting
There is no real life
And, less hope of recovery.
This world is
Not worth seeing at present-
Blood and bloodstains everywhere
Terror, and more terror everywhere
Haharardous running, and
Uncertainty everywhere
I am disgusted
With constantly seeing,
Hearing,
Facing all of these
Every day, and every night.
When you are with me
Uncertainty and terror vanish
Faith in life soars to its peak
And under the clear blue sky
Desires take flight
On the colourful wings
Of the will to live.
This world is
Not worth living at present,
I wish to experience it with you at my side
I wish to see it through your eyes
O my sacred love!
My desire
Is to hold you before my eyes....
These days---
my own eyes betray me
knitting lots of dreams
me-absolutely to me
why-all these visible/invisible dreams
so early, before their time?
Dreams---
sometimes mounting the peaks
at another descending the reeks
of some pains and problems
of some pleasure and prosperity
while watching them
suddenly, I get awake
from trans of dozing
flash on!
like the light entering to camera
plain---completely plain
all my these lovely dreams.
Unfortunate!
If there were not an accident
would these dreams be
really colorful?
Sometimes climbing a hill,
Sometimes descending downward,
The street walked on foot trails too,
Moving ahead on the turnings.
Sometimes it faced the obstacles,
Other times it braved the oppositions,
And many times it withstood the showers of rain
And it ran on squares and intersection.
The people called the street
The Kanti2 Highway or the Kodari3 Highway,
The Araniko4 Highway or the Juddha5 Road,
Called it a thousand names
And kept it as memorials of their ancestors.
They dragged it along into their martyrs' statues.
The street gave them the means,
It offered them achievements,
Men thought the street as their goal
And spanned bridges to reach it.
As a result the poor street
just got their steps over it,
just their treads, tramples and kicks
And constantly it bore the torture.
Many people think they can treat the street
In whatever way they please,
Throwing it into towns making it filthy,
Or spitting up on its chest their vomits,
Or raising in crowds of political procession
TO trap the rulers with their slogans.
But the street has now turned feeling less,
It never showed and aversion.
For years without end
Bizarre parades exhibited themselves
Making moves of despotic dances
And riding horses of oppression.
The street remained magnanimous
It never protested.
But going beyond limit
Or carelessly
Thousands of accidents
Fell over the poor street,
But the street on its part never trampled and man,
It never killed a man.
Contrast between Albert Einstein and Gautama Buddha
Krishna Raj D.C.
I am Einstein, father of Hermann, the son of Germany
Contributing outstanding bestowals, I am the science's formula for this world
My childhood took of in the village near Uhlm
Came up with mammoth reality in the very tender age
The village was small; there was a tiny community of jewish
I had to live the world on my own
The likelihood of love and affection of a matter
Paved the path like a dawn for a new horizon
I Left the country while getting education
I Left with the vision of tyrannous Hitlerism on jewish
My brothers were burnt alive in a huge barrage of blaze
I then wandered in search of a place to survive.
But it wasn't easy to leave the father's house
It was impossible to receive the same love and affection like that of a mother
It was impossible to part with the love and affection of friends
But it was such place where even if I desired to stay I could survive no longer
Hey wise, respected, majestic! Hey proponent of Peace!
I set off with farsighted ambitions
Stayed by renting for several years in a new country
And ultimately, I was compelled to write a letter proclaiming the war.
The impact of my letter formulated the first ever nuclear bomb
The death toll mounted in the earth and widespread terror sparked off
I didn't realize the consequence will take the shape of bereavement for people
Today I regret and feel sad.
If I say there's no religion, the entire world can be under dark clouds
If I say there's no God, a huge volcano of destruction may aries
If I say there's no perception at all, devastating aftermath may arise
If I say science's everything, atom may evoke terror
Today there's nothing new in this world which was stopped in its root
They still subsist but they only can be seen rarely
People mourn by complaining that everything have demolised
If you say it's indestructible, you are with nothing besides sitting and watching the world
Entire power can never be destroyed, it can neither be created
All the abhorrence that were created in this earth can't be ameliorated
All the things here are proportionately subordinates
Nothing can be expected to be autonomous in this world; even the broad feelings itself can't be
East, west, north, south
There is not any direction,
Not any longitude or latitude,
Not any frontier,
Like a name of the beloved written on water,
There is only a darling feeling,
Only a deep sense,
An incomprehensible globe,
Where there is not a clear map
Of any country.
There is not a function,
And not any objective.
But only an illusion that
There is a goal—
While drawing this map
I have to cross the frontier
That is not there.
Have to pass through the road
That is not seen there.
Have to write a list of dreams
On the coast of the sea
Which is lapped clean by the waves.
I have to sketch
A love letter in the wind/
And have to keep that safe
In the bag.
If I get lost during the journey,
Looking at this picture,
I have to reach
All those anonymous places
I have walked not to reach,
Crossing the frontiers that do not exist,
Passing through the roads that are never seen,
And going through the directions that are never known.
Translated by: Mukul Dahal
He spilled the colour
Burnt the canvas
Broke the brushes
and, threw away all the portraits,
I was amazed
What had happened to the great artist?
Understand Mani!
I spoilt the valued thirty years for nothing
Nay, there can be nothing like;
the colour brighter than the life
and time-less picture than sorrow
In the bosom of snow-mount too
Is the stone as in my bosom;
the heart of snow-mount too,
Is pressed with stones
Like that of my heart.
Snow-mount,
melts the snow and begets
the river of passion
but,
the river
has been flowing
his dreams for the ages
like the nestlings with new feathers
flowing in the form of river,
what a pity...!
making inner heart lament
the snow-mount twinkles in appearance
exactly like me.
River dries in winter
and the shore mocks at the snow-mount
Sometimes,
Vanishes in the river flood
poor...!
shadow of snow-mount
Bare snow-mount
unwillingly smiles;
pressed with the stone
is his heart too,
exactly like mine.
