Leaning against the trunk

of the century-old peepal tree,

nearby an abandoned house,

broken, bleak, depressed, desperate,

I mourn the agony that corruption

and depraved politics has caused

and the stark-naked unaccountability

of our barren economic policies

that excel at exporting

its youths only.

A flicker of hope,

and then another

Mili Juli Sarkar.

A fresh political potpourri,

nothing concrete.

The corrupt

and the brokers

overwhelm us.

They crawl into

our eyes, noses, and ears

and stitch our mouths.

It’s time to break

the vicious cycle of corruption

and political malformation.

It’s time.

We owe it to our youths

who are crying out for change.

We owe it to the martyrs

to ensure that their blood

was not shed in vain.

We owe it to those

who are yet to be born.

The shadows

of the peepal tree

have fallen across

much of the field

but the sun

is still lighting up

the far corner.

A little girl

is standing there

in the Sun,

with a flower in hand.

Nearby, a multicolored prayer flag

mounted on a bamboo pole

driven deep into

a stack of hope

and dreams

is swaying gently

in the breeze.

(Bhuwan Thapaliya is the author of four poetry collections. His poems have been widely published in international magazines and journals such as Kritya, Foundling Review, FOLLY, WordCity Monthly, Poetry and Covid: A Project funded by the UK Arts and Humanities Research Council, University of Plymouth, and Nottingham Trent University, Life in Quarantine: Witnessing Global Pandemic initiative sponsored by the Poetic Media Lab and the Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis at Stanford university, Trouvaille Review, Journal of Expressive Writing, International Human Rights Arts Festival( ihraf.org), Pendemics Literary Journal, Pandemic Magazine, The Poet, Valient Scribe, Strong Verse, Ponder Savant, International Times, Taj Mahal Review, Poetry Life and Times, VOICES (Education Project), Longfellow Literary Project, Poets Against the War, among many others.)