– Bhupi Sherchan

                     Translation-Himal khadka

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 the roar
and at the end of the day
fall, smashed
turning into water droplets
feeble water droplets
and live the rest of the life
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

Translation- Himal khadka

however, we look superior
we are but decaying inside
our height is false
is an illusion
it has not much importance than

the mushroom that has grown on some mound
or do not has much specialty
than the Indian trickster
upon stilts
It does not have much special quality
than the dancing circus joker,
in conical hatwe 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 himastounded 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,
and at last, descend
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 splashingglorifying 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 divided either
somebody else has to dissect us
we are unable to go forward
without someone whipping
at the rear

We are the discolored 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 disciples
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
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 who 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,
we are the feet
we win the race, always
Tika marks our forehead
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 worshippers
let’s we all worship this void
let’s we all bow down
to this emptiness,
to this god
of our existence.

Translation- Himal khadka