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.

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.

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

This is for the sad ones

The world is-

a fucked up place

a place for the mindless

a place where a mouthful can be mindful

a place for you to be sad.

The world is a fucked up place.

and you will try to escape it,

but the rangers of the world are relentless

pity them, for they do not know that they range

pity them, for they do not recognize the darkness they carry on their backs

pity them, for they think their escalation is supreme

pity them, for they are fucked up too.

Pity them but do not join them,

this is for your own good-

the true good,

don’t you join the traders of the world

don’t you join the keeper of keys

don’t you join the giver of things

and don’t you join the maker of slaves

for this world is put in front of you as a test

A test!

If you are sad, you’re not failing.

If you want to buy happiness, buy it

If you want to snatch it from someone else, snatch it

If you want to steal it from someone, steal it

but know that what you possess will not be real,

Happiness that is bought will be outdated

Happiness that is snatched will come with guilt

Happiness that is stolen will be lost.

You can catch a butterfly and remove its wings and put it on your shoulders,

but you cannot catch it’s flight.

If you choose to not buy,

you’re winning it.

Buy you should also choose to not listen,

If you have to listen,

Listen to the sparrow in your lawn

listen to the rain,

listen to the thunder too

but do not listen to what the TV says

for a TV only radiates greed.

for a TV only radiates fear.

Don’t you listen to the gate keepers

Don’t you listen to the slave makers

Don’t you listen to god like men

be god, do god !

If you want to be happy look around,

but be careful where you stand when you look,

do not stand where there is blood

do not stand where there is crowd

do not stand where things are falling

heck, do not stand where things are going up

stand, if you have to

under a tree,

beside a river that has not met a city yet

stand in the rain,

be sad if you have to

but I doubt you will be able to

If you want to speak,

speak to yourself,

speak to a rock,

speak to a dog,

If you need to speak to a human,

speak to a child

but do not introduce yourself

remember,  you are sad

there is no joy in sharing sadness.

If you are sad, you have seen it

you have seen what they are hiding behind the flash

you have seen that happiness is not found in the lake they swim

you have seen their lies

you have seen their crime

you have seen the devil

and you are not played by the devil’s tune.

But hope,

there is happiness somewhere

if you are sad, you will look for it

if you find it, share it.

when you find it, share it.

but speak not to the world,

for the world is a fucked up place,

speak to a child,

and remember, do not introduce yourself

until you feel happy.

 

The coffee table of hope

 

On a summer sun,

Beside the floor to ceiling glass wall

Placed are fours in brown

Always a little down

Always a little below

Always an excuse to expand on the hello

 

Five glossy magazines,

three worn out brochures

Some tea stains on a coffee table for sure

A coaster rests like a stone on a wide dessert

Strong and proud

 

I have for years drank coffee

Sitting beside this,

Coffee table- Hoping to find the sweetness

In the shared bitterness we have purchased.