Poetry:
Momila
Your tears flow neither ascending up nor descending down
As flowers kiss the sky above
ensuing insouciant blooming of
the youthfulness of earth,
as the Sun rays’ race towards infinity
to meet dream-angels
following gleaming brightly in the morning,
why do tears not flow upward high
by getting love melted from eyes.
Why the powerful third eye, akin to
the Mani of Ashwatthama, embellished
on your forehead gone that stale?
Instead, from your third eye
fire is blazing with foggy fume of smoke, but
why do the tears not flow ascending upward from your eyes
to cease that fumed volcanic smoke on your forehead?
And, we are but dwarf men
emerged as mushrooms emerge during monsoon.
the drool that you spit lavishly
always fall on our head.
we have the destiny to get slipped on your spit.
despite, while crying, we look towards sky up
to not let our tears fall on ground.
And even if tears flowed down by brimming of our eyes
at least, it drenches our own hearts inside our chests, but
it never enters into your courtyard becoming a deluge,
it has flown off our own houses but never yours.
and, what to tell about other pains!
even a single spate of our tear has never bothered you.
And, you are a powerful ruler of this world, but
you are the owner, of
so-called third eye cheaper than my fingerprint.
Why has your eye gone so much stale?
And you know not
the value of tears oozed for pains of others,
for your tears neither soak your brain by flowing up
nor drenches your heart by rolling down!
How could tears soak heart and brain
that have gone numb and stone.
Again, you
who think everyone’s clock is showing twelve o’clock
by grabbing all needles of your own clock, have made
your tears stagnant by coagulating it, at the
same stagnant time of twelve o’clock of your stature.
For the same reason, your congealed tears
neither flow ascending upwards…!
nor roll descending downwards.
Right now on my clock
it is exactly six o’clock.
Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel
