Some Poems from Nepal
The Body – a building


Upon me a building is there
Standing erects-a body indeed.

Buildings of course are there in countless numbers
Standing erect by lanes, yards, roads and cross-roads
With a sink here and a flower-garden there,
And ah arid land here and a greenery there
Among which stands this building-
This body indeed.

Windowed it is
Trussed it is
Roofed it is
And attached to it is a courtyard in front.

The windows are such
As are opened sometimes
The windows are such
As are closed sometimes.

Yes there is
A building standing upon me
Erect indeed.

2

All you


I myself do not know
Why I came to break down,
Why my balance I lost today
While walking along.

Wherever and howsoever far I go
And wherever and howsoever fast I run
I do not get anywhere.

I wonder why.

People say I’m their friend
But theirs I have never been able to be.

Really none I have ever been able to become-
Neither a good son, nor a good husband,
Nor any one practical I could ever be.
So to say, till today
I have never been able to be my ‘own self ‘.

All because
The snake-like spiteful attitudes keep stinging me
I have never been able to be in ease.


3
Helplessness


Such a mind of mine
That never stays with me
How can I understand?

Such a mind of mine
That drifts away from me
To catch hold of the rainbow
How can I hold!

Such a desire of mine
That strays far beyond
Leaving me along
To amuse itself
How can I claim as mine!

So disabled I have become that
I may better be likened to a dried up tree
With a sense wriggling though
Somewhere within
Of the season mild, the spring.

Laugh I can neither,
Weep nor I can;
Even assert myself I can not do my all.
This is the rule indeed of life
Never to be intelligible to me.

Not to my liking though
My mind always roams
Everywhere around.

So helpless I am!

4
New Year and my life


At every turning point
In every differing circumstance
In every different time
I have put my life at auction
To be sell it anyhow
At it has failed to be sold out so far.

Ever in a hurry
Fleeing and running
It has all become a mess-
A disordered lot.

In the course of finding the senses in living
I have fixed its price by myself
In the manner the second-hand books
Stacked in the streets
Are generally priced.

Unable to catch up with a time,
Date-expired before the expiry date
And decayed long before it is time as I am,
I have compromised with myself
And change the life
Wishing it good,
With enthusiasm fresh and new
Along with the arrival of the new spring.

It has changed along with the change of new calendar.

5
REVOLUTION



Revolution comes
At the call of Time.

No, not for anyone’s interest
Nor for anyone’s wish
It so comes.

The songs it sings expand on
Just as the dreams open on.

The steps a revolutionary takes
Move along
Framing a history new.

The old traditions then go down
Pulling down the roads and buildings
And the towers tall.

And the New Age dawns
As a creation new.

So the revolution comes
At the call of Time.

6
My Diary


The pages of my diary
Have my one by one been filled
And gone of turning over.
The times have passed and gone into oblivion
Changing into days and years.

Some dreams have proved to be dreams
While some have turned to be reality
When the pages of my diary have gone
Torn up to pieces.

I am on my part
Being buried
Under the burden of the letters of my own diary
Being pressed down more and more.

Neither any relative I have
Nor any vision so clear;
Why I don’t know for sure
Anything new has stopped
Being recorded
In my diary.
And I find my diary
No longer of any value.

7
The stream


How much pure and transparent
A stream is
That coming out of a source
Gushes forth breaking boulders!

I wonder why
Man has failed to become as good as a stream.

Ascending the ascent
Descending the descent
The stream always flows on
Night and day
Non-stop
Moment by moment.

Along the sand-banks
And along the breaking waves
On it flows.

A stream as it is
Flowing it goes on,
Making no assertion that
Flowing it has to do,
Nor making any complain of aching
It has to go through.

I wonder why
Man has failed to become to good as a stream.


8
At dawn


When I awake
Early in the morning
Along with the dawning rays,
I find in me
A briskly rainbow
Causing me to awake,
Ringing like a song,
And waving like a story
Hailing a day all renewed
Carrying a story fresh and new.

In my courtyard
Always arrives the morning early
Glittering hurriedly
Along with the dew-drops.

I too do always awaits
That morning due-
The night indeed I never liked.


9
What is life?


Life is short living
But this living short is not for any losing
Nor for any winning to make.
So too-

It is neither for selling
Nor for being sold.

Life of course is no other than
Keeping on moving.

But here-
some one is losing
and some one is winning,
and some one is selling
and some one is being sold.


Why?
The question is mine.

Since difference is there
Between man and man
Why does the definition of life change?

Why?

An answer I do not get.


10
The Portrait


People these days present themselves in portraits
Even trampling philosophy their own
By coloring it with any sort
Of difficulties, agonies and grievances.

With no faith
And so enthusiasm also
For any ‘golden’ life to entertain
They have been distancing themselves
From their own kind.

They have become such as shut their eyes.
To shun the sight of any sort of progress
Made by whosoever he may be
Not agitated by any agitation
And not vacillated by any vacillation willfully caused so.

Some such other persons, however, are there
Who within themselves are drawing with pens of hope
Their portraits of future
Bearing the identity of the present.


11
A blow

How much a blow aches
Only a sufferer knows.
So how much deep uneasiness is
In your eyes
Only me
None but me is able to see
Only me is able to perceive.

Have only patience to wait
Time will come
When everything will be all right
Because in the course of changing of time
The pain will change
And change in to other form.

Certainly of course
The pain will then change into happiness


12
Before the Volcano Erupts



I am looking at myself
Closely
At my own reality
Living helplessly.

At my life I am looking
Turning it this way
And turning it that way
To find me and me alone
In every day
In every deed
In every result
In every time
And in every progress
To find at long last
Nothing but a living corpse
I have become.

When on the faces of my relatives
And in the eyes of those related
I find myself
Just as a machine man
With results nothing none beforehand
But with a fare struck nothing
That all these activities all in disorders
Brewing the in others just as in me
Something like a state
That prevails
Before a volcano erupts.



By Badri SachinKuleshor Residential Area B-block, 24Katmandu NepalPhone: 0977-1-42820021
E-mail:badri_sachin@yahoo.com