Poetry:
Momila
Me and the Photograph on the Elevation
Still today, my sweat runs downward
But I—
Like the annoying noise of an old machine
Clang…clang clang…clang
Incessantly keep ascending the height of the life.
Wondering what might be the height left to be covered
I hung on the smoke like a rope of my own breathe
Clang…clang clang…clang
And keep climbing the height of the life.
I have turned seventy-five dittoing the same act
All the dreams are left behind with my bygone youth
But life’s burden continues to live with me
Probably, life and the sorrow will end together.
When I realize that the upward slope never ends
I feel like reversing the height and walk from the bottom
But, I have never approved a fraud play like that.
Yes, I am gloomy; I am poor
I have come to see these temples investing my own sweat
I revere you heart
Therefore, please broaden your heart
Take as many photographs of the pinnacles of the temples that resemble my head
But, kindly do not take the photograph of my bowed head
Burdened by your load.
I cannot cover the lens of your camera
Tearing my already torn cholo
Please, do not photograph me!
Because my sorrows will grow along with the photographs
In your chambers, tables and walls like the Raktabija.
If you can
Photograph the Himalayan that showcases my smile
That I gifted as a token of my love
That exists above me and the height of my life
But kindly, do not photograph my bowed head!
I know it well—
My sorrows will live in your photographs even after I die
As a funfair of the civilization!
I wish—
My sorrows die for ever along with me!
Translated from Nepali by Keshab Sigdel
