Poetry:
Deepak Samchu
Suicide
I was just thinking to search for a mild Sun
when a pair of swallows came flying
and rested on the wooden beam of my home.
They would play hide and seek in the garden
sing the songs residing on the verandah, and
sometimes, would quarrel in croaky voice
and would engage in love talks at times.
I would spill my grain store in courtyard for them.
they would collect it, leaving the flowers
and settle their hunger.
They collected the drops of hope
from around the world, and
made a safe nest of mud;
they kept caring for their eggs
and started to hatch.
I felt, as if I had found the light of my search,
as if the warmth had entered back
to a cold oven,
as if a golden morning had painted
a gloomy face with happiness.
Henceforth, the journey of our poetry started.
When their relationship would go bitter
the branches of my poem would be broken,
when they would be in love
my poems would be adorned
with bunches of metaphors.
The swallows would pour the words
and I would spread the dreams.
One day I found their nest on fire,
and at that very moment
my poetry committed suicide.
Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel
