Poetry:
Benju Sharma
Custom
Hanged on wall of my room
for so many years, is
an old picture;
a torn out picture;
bitten by insects and rats.
A decrepit shape, that
only familiar eyes could recognize.
a picture, standing stance.
This picture, that
my grandmother kept worshiping to,
this picture, that my mother hanged
on wall with immense pride;
has become repugnant to my eyes today.
I realized, that
belief has a circumference,
and faith has a limit too.
Now, I aim to paint this picture
with color of fire, by covering
all of its four corners.
I will place a burning matchstick
at the center;
Yes, at its very center.
Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel
