Nabin K Chhetri

Sitting by the window, in Berlin
the yellow laburnum trees
brightly lit on the pavement
I think of home.

It is night in Nepal
and in my house, on the back yard
my mother has planted cucumber, pumpkin, chillies, and maize.

They grow in the dark –
the cauliflower rises to the sky in a dull embrace.
The beans curl up the bamboo lattice,
a millimetre at a time.
By the time my neighbour’s cock crows in the morning,
the colours from the fields
will have silently entered the roses.
The papaya sweetens.

So many things grow
in the night, in the absence.