If only valleys were filled with wormholes

Gotten so comfortable

with the mess in the floor,

with the scum in our minds,

with the chill on our bed sheets,

that a hand,

an arm,

a stray strand of hair,

an unruly soul,

all of it,

becomes really heavy,

more than waking up,

more than unlocking the phone

with damn fingerprints,

and typing ‘hi’.


The it factor !

He sniffed himself
more often than not

Some times he wondered
if other people smelt it too,

In fancy hallways he felt at home,
Vanilla that rose up from white china cups filled the air,
These cups were full of it as well.
And he would wear all these bright clean clothes,
with saturated colors,
big bold rich names stapled to them.
He would wear these beautiful sparkling things,
that shined more than gold,
glittered more than the March night sky,
His clothes were full of it as well.

His speech was like an assortment of fresh green salad,
his acquired accent like salad dressings, overpaid for, from convenient stores,
These stores were full of it as well.

His walls were decorated with well composed landscape pictures
You could find him somewhere in the frame as well,
tiny and almost invisible, but some how he felt very big about this,
His engineering degree hung by the side,
As if someone had put a reflector in his sockets,
his pride glistening in his eyes,
Even his walls were full of it

He walked down the road with spring in his feet,
His hands in his pocket,
A well measured smile in his face,
Even his walk was full of it.

He sniffed himself more often than not,
He worried if other people smelt it too.

He saw me in the mirror the other day,
He said, “sh…
Don’t you tell,
don’t you tell nobody about it.
I am doing my best to hide it.”

I said- “Don’t worry bro, it’s not just you, everybody is full of shit.”

Recurring martydom

I was killed by the “rising sun”

that promised me

land to yield and a place safe

i was instead given a tongue less mouth

even which i kept

then i was asked for a few years

to make things right

i said”why not”

a few years will pass out

swiftly like a summer night.


years later nothing changed

then i was told,

it was all but lies

i do not believe what i hear

but i gotta believe my eyes

there was no tongue in my mouth

no sense in my head

no guarantee i would not be taken a prisoner

while i wake from my bed

i said”ah hell ! this has to change ”


and change it did,but i didn’t see

you see,  i was the foundation of what you have with thee

i marched the street like a mad dog


i was armed with slogans

while i was facing bullets

my words would pierce hearts

but couldn’t stop them damn bullets


in the end i was shot,

in the leg first and when i fell

in my head, bang bang

two shots to make sure.

i wouldn’t rise again

killed like a mad dog.

again and again.


duihazar sixtythree ,  dui hazar fourtysix and dui hazar-seven

i am your recurring martyr

i die again and again.


-May 17, 2011

Trade Deficit

What we are doing love, it does not make sense to me.

Why are we making these horrible trades, oxygen for oil, life for paper ? We gave up kisses and we gave up hugs, we gave up our loved ones for pictures and jet journeys. The years of our youth for AC rooms, for whistles and beeps. Why would anyone give up chocolate and take only the fancy chocolate packaging in return? It does not make sense to me. What I wish is we looked at stars the way we look at cars. I wish we looked at hearts the way we look at malls and marts. I wish we looked at tree like they were jewelry. What we are doing love, it does not make sense to me.



The Coat


a groovy substance stretched over primer,

is color painted on a wall,

a thin spread- a coat.

mostly painted to cover older colors,

older coats- like old notes

work the same, but lose appeal

are weathered,

have been scratched on

have darkened in places

due to unwanted leaning by accidental owners

wall paint life

proudly displayed over old paint,

looks anew and fresh, but-

only for a while,


it too will need another coat.

Stealing from Shakespeare

You are far more to me than you are to thee

I have killed cold nights in hope of a single day

When I may feel okay, I may feel temperate

And without any doubt I May

Waste all my life this way; for a worthwhile date

your picture stuck on my wall shines

Against LED vines; that I keep dimmed

The saturation in them declines

Like poetry lines; grown but untrimmed

And I would happily let myself similarly fade

In exchange for a moment with you that I ow’st

For I may trade a thousand sun for your shade

And like a 'shroom in the dark I may grow’st

You will get my crazy, bend down and see

You are far more to me than you are to thee


Rhymes stolen from

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

(Sonnet 18) William Shakespeare, 1564 – 1616

सेवा व्यवशायी


मलाई सज्जनहरु सोध्छन्

कविता के मा लेख्ने ?

म भन्छु अब जे मा लेखे पनि भो

अनि भन्छन् – नाइँ नाइँ !

के मा माने – नोटबुक, ल्यापटप, फोन खाले ???

— —

मानौ एउटा कवि-  काठमान्डू पस्छ

मोफसल बाट – म जस्तै !

सपना ठुलो ठुलो छ

बाटो धुलो धुलो छ

मेरो साथीले कलंकी उक्लदा

सहर भेट्टीन्छ भन्थ्यो

तर यहाँ त् जीर्ण आकाशे पुलको भुतले

पाहुने तर्साउदो रहेछ

मैले  ढाडमा भिरेको मेरो ब्याग

मैले कविता लेख्ने गरेको नोटबुकको घर हो

म कविता कागज मै लेख्ने गर्थे

आमाले घर बाट हिड्दा- जयन्ती मंगला काली भद्रकाली कपालिनी

भनि निधारमा टासेको अक्षता भद्रकाली सम्म न आइपुग्दै

खाल्डोमा गाडी बुरुक्क उफ्रदा

निधारबाट टुप्लुक्क झर्यो

आमाको आसिस  भने दहि अबिर जस्तै

निधारमा शीतल गरि बसेको छ

बसको फोहोरी भुइँबाट चामलका लाल दानाहरु


ब्याग को साइड पकेटमा राखेको छु ।

कविता नोटबुकमा लेखे पनि

फोने नम्बर भने हातमा लेख्ने बानि छ ।

पुरानो बसपार्कमा भेट्ने मेरो साथिको फोन नम्बर

दुवै हात मा लेखेको छु

एउटा मेटिए अर्को जगेडा !

बस पार्कमा भेटि त्यो मित्र मलाई चिया खुवाउन

संकटा लै जान्छ,

“मन्दिरै मन्दिरको सहर हो काठमान्डू !”  भन्छ

तर मैले देखे अनुसार  त शहरियाहरुको शान हिजो आज मन्दिरको होइन

मलहरुको वास्तुकलामा बास गर्दो रहेछ ।

तपस्वीहरु ब्यापारी भएका छन्

ब्यापारीहरु राजनीतिज्ञ अरे


कोहि यहाँ कोक बेच्छन् — मैले पनि एउटा किने

सब थोक बिक्छ अरे यहाँ – केहि छैन न बेचिने


लालीको भाउ मा जवानी बिक्छ अरे

अनि तालीको भाउमा जुबानी


म त मात्र सपना बोकेर आएको छु

यहा २४ घन्टे हात बजारमा

कहाँ थापु मेरो सपनाको  पसल,


टोक्रोमा राखेर सडक छेउ, किलो किलोमा बेचु कि ?


ठेला गाडामा राखेर – साँझपख डीप फ्राई गरी प्लेट प्लेटमा बेचु ?


कि त नाबालिकको नाडी चडाई बस भित्र खुद्रा बेचु ?


कि त् म सेवा व्यवसायमा लागु ?

मेरो सपनालाइ एउटा झुत्रे मरणासन्न बच्चाको सज्जामा

पछ्यौरीले ढाडमा बाँधेर हात फैलाउदै हिडु ?

बटुवालाई दान गर्ने मौका दिनु

आत्म श्रेष्ठताको अनुभुति गराउनु पनि त सेवा नै हो !


यस्तै यस्तै कुराहरु म भिजेको मनले लेख्ने गर्छु

भिजेको मन र भिजेको कापीको पाना उस्तै उस्तै हुन्छ

लेख्दा लेख्दै कापीका पानाहरु भिजेछन् भने कहिलेकाँही,

त्यो पाना सुखाएर कापी पट्याउछु भन्नु मुर्खता हो;

किन भने भिजेको पाना कहिले उस्तै  रहदैन।


अझै भिजेको एउटा पानि च्यात् न

तिम्रो पाना आशक्ति ले दिएन

अनि त्यसै कापी पट्यायौ भने –

लेख्दा लेख भिजेका तिम्रा  पानाहरुको

अश्रु ओशले,

कापी भरि बाँची रहेका अतिरिक्त अक्षर धामील्याउन थाल्छ ।


काठमान्डूका नाक भित्र त्यसैले सज्जनबृन्द

म कविता कम्प्युटरमा लेख्ने गर्छु।



performed at NPS Coaches Slam, Labim mall. September 2016