
-Bhupi Sherchan

Bhupi Serchan
All-day long,
like a dry bamboo
snoozing
and
regretting,
at own hollowness
all-day long
like a sick pigeon
pecking at the breast
scratching the wounds
all-day long,
in solitude like the pines
sobbing,
owing to some latent agony
all-day long
like an oyster mushroom;
far from the enormity of
the earth and the sky,
stabbing the feet into
a small piece of land
covering self with a
small umbrella…

Himal Khadka
in the evening,
when Nepal shrinks into Kathmandu
and Kathmandu dwarfs into Newroad*
and when Newroad
crumples and crumbles
under countless Feet
and becomes newspapers, tea stalls, pan stands
different hoaxes; In different attires,
walk back and forth
cackling like hens that just laid eggs, march the newspapers
and in places
darkness; scared of the lights of the vehicles, ascends the pavement
and frightened by
the humming and the stingings of
Innumerable bees,
I wake up
like the ghosts at the judgment day
and in absence of Lethe* the river in oblivion,
jump into a tharra* glass
and forget my own past story, past life and death
like this
the sun always rises from a tea kettle
and sets in an empty tharra* glass
the earth I dwell on is revolving
as before
and it’s just only me
a stranger to the changes
in the surroundings,
to the scenes,
to the merriment,
like a blind man compelled
to sit on a revolving chair,
showcased in an exhibition.
Translation -Himal Khadka
*Newroad – Kathmandu downtown
**tharra – the cheap country liquor



यसलाई जीवित राख्नकोलागि तपाइँको
आर्थिक सहयोग महत्वपूर्ण हुन्छ ।

