Painting & Poetry:
A Letter to my Motherland Nepal
Painting: Sandhya Regmi
Sandhya Regmi
Sunset Celebration in the Mountains
We are far far away
From them, Mother dear,
Who brought up on your tender laps
Destroyed your verdant forests
Sucked nectar from your bosom
Bur traded your rivers and rivulets,
You carried them on your back
They slit you throat open.
In the garb of a patriot,
A parliamentarian and a minister
They turned traitors
Struggling down-trodden are we,
And remained till the bitter end
Inordinately honest and loyal always.
Great souls we could never be
But much better are we but
Than your ill-bred descendants.
To build Taj and Sheesh mahal
with our honest earnings abroad
Never dawned on us, never.
Enough if we could build
A nice little cot
An embodiment of love
Embellish further with
a garden elegant and plant
A seedling that promises
An everlasting life and makes
You live for eternity.
To our countrymen and friends
We greet thee.
Like Lord Shiva's dance of demolition
The sad tidings we hear
How they plunged the country and caused
A total bloodshed, a diabolical destruction
Made us all cringe and moan.
We glance at the portraits
Of those people responsible
for throwing the country
Into the vortex of civil war
Sullied whose faces are with blood
Of their own kith and kin
On TV screen.
The despicable faces when we recall
who filled their coffers
Stealing priceless ancient idols,
Made mockery of nationalism and independence,
Of equality and such sensitive issues,
Our lungs burn in anguish.
It drives us insane when
From the fountain of anger
Juts out the hot blood
When we hear the cry
of hunger and poverty
emanating from their
parched lips.
When we hear leaders and demagogues
Awarded and honours bestowed
For their cheap utterances and slogans,
Empty speeches and fake assurances
Tinged with pretentious patriotism,
Our own countrymen
treating their brethren in distress
With moral turpitude,
Sights such heinous do
Torture us hard mentally.
When you witness the edifice collapsing
Of your hopes and aspirations,
Of your faith and curiosity right in front
Like a pack of cards,
Your heart breaks with unexpected thunder.
When we fail to present ourselves
To where you need us most
and when Mother dear,
We feel our life sometimes
devoid of any meaning
Utterly useless and not worthwhile
We feel our lives
Heading toward nothingness
Fast becoming the 'Gandiv'
The discarded bow of Arjun after
Lord Krishna deserted .
Translator: MB Pradhan
