The woman from Dillibazaar

​She measured the earth in multiples of the distance between her home and the farthest city she has ever been to,Dharan.  She asked me if where I came from was farther than her reference town. She looked at my face as if she could see the dirty ponds and the dusty streets of my home town, I looked back at her trying to find traces of Kathmandu, the city that has spawned her whole ancestry, but all I could find was a small intersection,one among many of intersections of Kathmandu, at most I could see parts of Dillibazaar .

When she smiled to bid me goodbye, her smile didn’t look like Dillibazaar, it looked like Dharan.

I wonder if, when I look into the mirror, I will ever be able to recognize the city I carry in my smile.

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

Four days

Day 1

A daughter picks a puppy from the street,

brings it home.

the younger brother jumps with joy,

the mother walk out to the porch.

It’s a Bitch

So what ?

It will bleed.

No it won’t.

It will.

Alright, it will.

So what ?

It isn’t a proper dog.

We will need chains the mother says.

And a kennel,

Especially during her days.

Father comes home,

“It’s a bitch” he says.

They chain the bitch.

Day 2

The bitch is gone,

The daughter cries.

Her brother cries.

Day 3

The house is quiet

The children are sad.

The mother is sad

because her children are sad.

The father goes to sleep.

Day 4

Father picks a puppy from the store,

Brings it home.

The younger brother jumps with joy,

The mother walk out to the porch.

It’s not a bitch.

Ain’t one of your easy days- Ghazal

I hate existing in dreadful lazy days

I discover sanity on crazy days

Today if you test and fail me in my path

I’ll insist on clarity, on hazy days

When I see ashtrays some bottles and glasses

I can tell this is one of my daisy days

On sober nights I feel like a renegade

These nights lead me to one of my Jay-Z days

I wonder at nine, where do I go from here

Life just feels like a long string of maze-y days

Heavy weight bags that I unpacked yesterday

Today I Fail to achieve any cozy days

Your words your hands and your smile, they lie to me

A dry cheek of pretend; no true rosy days

My pen and paper they kneel and pray today

Eklavya, this ain’t one of your easy days.

Runoff

You could trickle North
You could trickle South
You could Trickle drop
trickle drip drop
Into a cave mouth
You could trickle in,
Stones sand and bed
Or you could just run off
and Keep trickling instead

And I travel different,
But no, I don’t travel cool
Even my path, like that of a river
is spotted with stagnant pools
And in the end all of us,
we travel into the sea
Nothing becomes of you
Nothing becomes of me.
Like a runoff running free
We Trickle into the sea.