The Sage’s Daughter and The Slutty Princess

The sage’s Daughter 

used to be beautiful

her skin was as fair as the snow

i don’t know what heaven smells like but I bet she smelt like heaven

I’ve heard poets would stop and stare 

kings would drool

Even God themselves would transcend from heaven and stay

but today

she dances in closed spaces

her songs no longer echo in the hills

they just bounce off the concrete walls

reverberate !

she feels she has lost herself in coming to age

she’s lost herself in change

Kathmandu City,

will you rendezvous with me

walk through history

and live the Resurrection

and give the impression

pity,

over your position

as the city of revolution

the city of political impunity

you’ve been eyed by local kings and international queens

for looking so damn pretty

And Kathmandu you hide in your defense

tattooed by kollywood posters and broken fence

communism lives in your walls as paint stains

This goes out to all the revolutions

your jaded walls represent

This goes out to the dead shangri-la

the melting pot of bourgeois and guerrilla

ideals that loosen up so easy

you’re the epitome of metamorphosis baby !

This is a Scream

Every new billboard in the street

looks like so many new dreams

it feels like gajurs of new temples

catching and throwing Radiowave signals

budding and growing old Kathmandu

getting younger with age, new Kathmandu

Kathmandu dust sometimes smells of frustration and anguish

other times it smells of languishing tempos and temples

and resounds with every bell ko tung tung

and 50 thousands motorbike ko peep peep

ani 15 hundred road side woofers blasting mind less techno

with mangal dhun squeezed some where in between

To all this music

Kathmandu She dances

you’ve been a lady fucked up too many instances

by looters and leaders alike

a lot of shit you’ve had to put up to

an army of robbers,

hell bent on killing you

You’re home to the political clown

clowns that lock you down

and you’re lovers haven’t been so kind

the smoke of betrayal hovers on

as the dreaded time plays through your bust

you harbor leeches, but at what cost

 

I stand beside the bus park

and gaze at ghantaghar

the subtle reflection of clock tower

ranipokhara makes me wonder

isn’t reflecting on an image better than going after the image itself

isn’t the shadow, proof that you’re standing in the sun

isn’t chaos the perfect sound,

does not the idea of a soundless,

silent Kathmandu frighten you

 

KATHMANDU your beauty could intoxicate me

fixate me on you, be my whisky

and i do understand your split personality

the perplexing complexities surrounding your identity 

puzzle me with sound and dazzle me with light

nowhere is to be found a definition just right 

where is it that your heart resides,

what do i call you my love

the city of temple and palaces and spirituality

or the city of street that breeds power,

breeds democracy

 

You’re Indra is dead,

your gods are sold in the west

in your veins now flow nothing but poison and waste

and your Styrofoam palaces have become restaurants

your trouble doubles with hustle for power

your noble existence hampered in the final hour

your break up fights are like banda and chakka jam

while your make up sex is jatra haru ko dhum dham

check this

The river flows in the gutter and the gutter flows in the river

You’ve flipped around, since bhanu bhakta was spell bound

you’ve since been more alive

and meanwhile more dead

one living god isn’t enough

for 2 million evil heads

Kathmandu, the slutty princess

as horny as she gets.

 

 

 

 

 

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