Translations of Nepali Poems by Himal Khadka

We

                           – Bhupi Sherchan

However up we rise

however run hither and thither

roar however loud

but we are just water droplets

powerless water droplets

risen by the heat of the sun

and turned into the clouds

Sail here and there

at the hints of the wind

and consider ourselves dynamic

and once reaching up

we forget our ground

and to own ground

to the river

to the beaches

we bark contemptuously the way pet dogs

bark at the stray dogs

Through the windows

and resolve our bark as roar

and at the end of the day

fall , smashed

turning into water droplets

feeble water droplets

and live rest of the life

putrefying

in some well, pond or puddles

fostering,croaking contemptible frogs

embracing nonvenomous snakes

however up we rise

however run hither and thither

roar however loud

but we are hollow inside

there is no significance

of our rise

no aim of our run

of our roar,

there is not much weight than

a ‘hiss’ of the firebrand

thrown into the water

however we look superior

we are but decaying inside

our height is false

is an illusion

it has not much importance

than the mushroom grown on

some mound

or do not has much specialty

than the Indian trickester

upon stilts

It do not has much special quality

than the dancing circus joker,

in conical hat

we are enticed, intoxicated and

overjoyed with our height

we have but forgotten

our perpetual rusting and worning

at the island of our reverence

falling to the small island of inferiority

we have got into oblivion

we have forgotten our real height

we have forgotten

the common height of the man

we have forgotten

the height of the common man

so when a mediocre man comes and lies down

like the ‘Gulliver’ of the story

we look at him awestruck

we are awestruck

as we look at him

astounded by his height

scared of own dwarfishness

we attack him

with the needle like weapon

of our inferiority complex

ascend different organs

of his body

jump upon,

bite;

pinch

and at last, descend

tired

become seren

and surrender,

like the way the tide

surges up a massive rock

and soon falls at the feet of the rock,

washing and splashing

gloryfying him,

we start worshipping him

making him god

we however look tall

we are but rusting inwards

we are ‘lilliputians’

we are sub- humans

we aren’t able to unite ever

on our free will

somebody else has to unify us

on our free will,

we aren’t able to be devided either

somebody else has to dissect us

we are unable to go forward

without someone whipping

at the rear

We are the discoloured and

crumbled carom counters

things for entertainment

dependent on a player

having lost own velocity

driven by a striker

yes, we are less of the human

and more of the counters

we are brave but idiots

we are idiots

that’s why we are brave

we never could be brave,

without being idiots

we are like the ‘ Eklavya’

of the epic ‘Mahabharat’

‘Dronacharya’ of every era

ignores us

refuses to teach us,

refuses to value our skill;

our power

and our existence

but we erect

same Dronacharya’s idol

in front of our huts

and worship

bowing down

practice archery continuously

and get skilled

better than

the aristocratic deciples

of Dronacharya

surprised and scared

of our skill

Dronacharya comes

and asks for

his ‘Gurudakshina’

and we, at the hint

cut our thumbs

and present him happily

handover him

erasing own existence

delighted,

at own devotion

and  strength

that’s why

though we are brave

we are idiots

we are idiots

so that we are brave

we have never been brave,

without setting up anyone’s idol

we are the feet

just the feet

Feet – the body stands on

Feet-  the body walks on

Feet-  the body runs on

Feet – That believe that the body is

fostering them out of kindness,

out of favor

be delighted at the greatness of

the body and bear the load, always

never rise the head to look up

always remain low,

bowing

we are the feet

we win the race, always

our forehead is marked by Tika

and our neck is surrounded by garlands

we win the race

and our chest becomes full of medals

the forehead marked by Tika

is not us

the neck surrounded by the garlands,

the chest full of medals

are not us

we are just the feet

that step, walk and run

at the hints of the others

only the feet

and just the feet

we are nobody

and perhaps

If, that’s why we are somebody

we are not living

but perhaps

if, that’s why we are alive

so, come o’ void worshipers

lets we all worship this void

lets we all bow down

to this emptiness,

to this god

of our existence .

Kaligandaki[1]

-Madhav  Prasad Ghimire

Beyond the peak of  Machhapuchhre[2]

is Muktikshetra[3], the land of liberation

where lamps glitter  in the bubbling fountainheads

 

your birth-place is a divine pilgrim-site of the first flame

O Kali, the river! please tell me

how do you sculpt the Shaligram[4]?

 

ducks, from the basin

reach the hills along the sandbanks

trees on the banks bow so low on the creepers

as if the shadows would get swept away

roam in this heart of mine, inside the womb of Rishi Jehnu[5]

the sacred resources of yours, peak like the river Ganges

 

‘this is the very corner where  Jadbharat[6]  practiced austerity,

where, while she was filling the water

the magnolia fell from the fairy’s head

as if touched by the footprints of the fearless Vishnu[7]

my stones have bound the crafts of Amaravati[8], the city of immortals’

 

‘breaking the  high peaks,  ventured towards so farther,

I have kissed even the rough and hard so passionately’

thinking that you would write some signs on the stones

‘how to portray me in art, by myself !’

 

O, man! beneath your very heart lie

the secrete un-known nerves

it is said that various idols breathe life

under your incantation

you are the source of all the splendor, gross happiness

though it is you whose heart is unconscious

and it is you who is the mistake of the creation

 

on this soil, as an unskilled sculpture`s idol, cries,

pedestrians  pass by, laughing,

who cares to listen to others’ sorrow nowadays!

 

O, my craftsman! give some healthy form to this whole,

draw this entire world, in one single, simple, and small composition

 

may  there be the shadows,

may  there be the sun that spreads over the green forest,

may there be the beauty that swings through this town,

may there be the skill that preserves that beauty in the city of immortals,

may there the oil lamp in my secluded hermitage, be the witness

 

my real comfort is in some new creation on daily basis,

on forgetting oneself in the luxury of that creation

 

whoever doesn’t find the source of the nectar under their  chest,

will never be able to quench the heart’s thirst

 

when the whole country gets tired of overwork

when the sun sets far beyond the hills in no time,

with that crimson in the sky, I will shut my eyelids peacefully

along your bank O Kali! I will arrive at Muktinath

 

Jhuma[9], my ever-youth temple courtesan in the Himalayas

whose exuberant tresses hang lushly on her back,

this very evening

lighting a divine lamp with yak[10] butter

will take me to the caverns of the extreme mountain

 

may not, the remnants of the sunrays on the mountain, remain fresh

may hide, the talismanic images of the day, under the shadows

 

would Muktinath[11]  himself sit

empty in meditation, static like a mountain

tying on Damodar`s head, the white constellation of seven stars.

————————————————————-

[1] the sacred  river situated in western Nepal

[2] one of the famous mountain in western Nepal

[3] one of the top holy shrines for Hindu and Buddhist

[4] a revered stone

[5] one of the famous Hindu mythological sage

[6] one of the important Hindu mythological character

[7] One of the Hindu trinity of supreme godhead

[8] Hindu mythological city

[9] a girl surrendered to a temple to serve as the temple courtesan

[10] Himalayan cow

[11] lord Vishnu

 

Serpentine colony

– Binod Bikram k.c.

The first lessons you taught me were

to never crawl in life

to flow, sometimes egoistic

like a lover engrossed in own Loveland

to flow, sometimes roaring

like a rebel desperate to change the world

 

thank you! O river!

you saved me from dying

the inviting death by stagnancy

 

on the fourteenth day of my mother’s death

sitting on a rock at the bank, I wept

looking at your flowing face

Mother used to say, never pollute a river

that the soul of the river will cry

 

men of ill intentions have built

a serpentine colony

 

how the traitors would know!

the fish, the Peebles, and the sands are

someone’s offsprings

 

like a mother

who lost her sons and daughters one by one

sometimes in famine, sometimes in war

you are wandering off-track

carrying in your chest stories of grief  infinite

and the tune of the salt in your throat

 

When I am reading a newspaper  in a dream

suddenly Aurahi river breaks in the paper

Om Prakash a.k.a. Dilip Kumar,

the river lover’s dead body at the sandbank

crushed completely under

the tire of a tripper truck

fully smeared in blood

 

it is dull news in a country that is

tempted to mass-murder the lovers

 

but sometimes

a single matchstick can cremate

your dream-world

and after that

you will start loving

trees, rivers, clouds, birds, children, Dilip

sacredly as never before,

this is the belief of a poet

please do not wrong it

 

at this hour

there are things that I must prove

I am not the man

that accommodates the river

just on the play- cards, banners or

on Facebook on Twitter

 

my nerves are

the river’s nativity

 

I am not afraid of

the gun on the shoulders of

the returners from the hunt of the river

 

to snatch back the reigns of the river

from the hands of the dread

and hand it back to the river itself,

will flow from my heart

a river of fire any day

I’m sure of it.

 

Rivers are not like the human

• Bhupin

Rivers

are not into politics like the human

Rivers

Are not adept at manipulation like the human

demolishing the  wall of

life-less consciousness

rising ugly hands, they do not defame each other

they do not have falling out with each other

 

they do not separate colors, they are not racist

Rivers

do not discriminate the caste

in rivers’ constitution, even the tiny fountains have the equal right to become

the ocean

even the tiny rivulet has equal right to become the ocean

 

defying inhibitions,

Rivers can ascend the hills

Rivers can cut off the hills

 

Rivers are capable of drying  themselves up if they like

Rivers are capable of swelling up if they like

but perhaps rivers

are not able to bow low like the human

are not able to ache like the human

 

Rivers never walk away from  the streams, poor and dwarf, cheated by the creation,

Scared of own ego hurt, like the human

 

Rivers don’t choose to walk down a different path

Fearing color mismatch, like the human

 

River’s  black water can match with River’s white water

River’s white water can match with River’s  black water

 

Rivers are not the Negros by birth

Rivers are not the whites by birth

 

Rivers do not be the Aryans and the Mongolians

Rivers do not be the Muslims

Rivers do not be the Christians

 

Rivers are like Rivers

They are not like the human.

‘R’ in rivers is capitalized for the cause.

Translations-Himal khadka