Painting & Poetry:
You and Me
Painting: Erina Tamrakar
Momila
even on the road differed
are walking together, today
having signed in the portfolio of the same dream.
On the day you were born
the Tika on the forehead of the mother
had turned into the sun
brightening the house and the courtyard.
But,
on the day I was born
the sun-like Tika of the mother’s forehead
turned into the cloud
and showered from the eyes.
In this way
we started our journey differently.
But in the sense of being human
our existence
met on the same crossroad of fate and destiny.
Just watch–
the distance of the dreams
that eloped away from our eyes are same,
the colors of the rivers
that flowed carrying our sleepy sentiments are same,
the pain of the chartered clouds
that vaporized from our chests are same,
restlessness of the waves
that ebbed from our hearts are same.
Just watch–
same are all the things
all the same.
The height of life which we had seen,
the depth of life which we had understood
were perhaps hidden oblivion.
Height of life!
And depth of life!
Just watch–
here, somewhere near
one can listen to the engrossing sound
of your footsteps
climbing up the mountain of ego
to reach the pinnacle of life,
here, somewhere near
one can listen to the deafening sound
of my footsteps
climbing down the mountain of ego
to reach the bottom of life.
If you’re to meet me from the height
you’ve once achieved
climb you should down
from the summit of ego like me.
If I’m to meet you from the depth
I’ve once measured
climb I should up
to the summit of ego like you.
In this way
in the pretext of
climbing up and down in the same mountain
our ego of height and depth
kept on exorcizing us.
You want to flow this life
drawing the lines of banks and shores
I want to flow this life
taking banks and shores with me.
The liquid beauty of moving time
cannot remain cool and still
like a glamour of an edited poem.
Yet–
our twin conscience
celebrate their solo–existence
together.
And,
both of us know
music does not render its tune
from the edited version of run-way tears
Smile does not spread its flavor
in the vanity of cosmic edition
love does not enjoy its infinity
in the edited manuscript of time
Edited hatred does not suit our solemnity
Picture does not express its liveliness
in the edited version of falling leafs
and an evening edited with dusky smoke
does not arrest our fugitive dreams.
Yet,
the glamour of edited elegance
does not punctuate the interval of life
in the liquid grace of the moving time.
I’m indebted to
the liquid beauty of blooming flowers
I’m enchanted by
the liquid beauty of torrents
I’m hypnotized by
the liquid beauty of wandering river.
The liquid beauty of chasing cloud
rains
d
o
w
n
upon my shawl
and sweeps away my cupid-heart.
This flow
with the divine river-wine
among the unconquered horizon
is quite different
It would have been
quite different, too
for those who want their life
flow in the mystic river
to watch their own illuminated life
from the dark balcony of black desire.
You want to cast your desolate boat
on the new waves,
on the new ripples and new tides.
You are intoxicated
by the music
rendered by the serious mind
And,
I’m here
deathly determine to dance my own death
ghostly determine to steal away my own breath.
You’re a portrait
chiseled by an unknown artist.
Often time you watch your painting
with eyes wide open
from the distant corner.
And, I flow
unsteadily by the same corner
carrying my own river of fathom and pathos
My life is a life of river
calling for open seas.
Your song is a song of river
calling for open seas.
................................
Wandering, wandering
we are life
Our only religion
is to flow
flow and flow....
In this way–
our separation falls apart
our ego falls apart.
Breaking all the wild distance
we meet and dissolve
like a song dissolved into breath
like a life dissolved into death
A beautiful day that it was!
a day of blossoming civilization
a day we broke
our demon-like egos.....!
The most beautiful day that it was
of a young civilization
the day we met and flowed
towards our destination.....!....!!....!!
