Poetry:
Dipin Shrestha
Rainfall
Falling like the rain
Rain is what I am.
Ceaselessly raining we are-
Rain and I-
Befalling
In eyes, coffees, pillows, wine, grave,
In windowpanes of memories.
One starless night,
We tapped all the leaves
In the dense woods.
The symphonic hum
Of a million leaves
And the gently pattering rain.
Till late
The fragments of rains
Made love
At the tip of the leaves,
Unoozed.
Let the fountain fall
Or, the rainbow call,
I am in rain.
And we are the same.
We fell in narrow streets
In some sealed cities:
Everything was buried
under the thirst-
Aweary eyes overlooked without flinching,
The pilgrims’ sacrilege.
And at rain,
Rotten river ran
As if the creator Himself,
Cleansing the sins of civilized man.
We fall with innocent creeks
From the mountain
Down the snow-lines.
Rain remains falling and the man
Will be falling from the Garden.
Translation: Poet Himself
