When the way ahead stretched further,
destination shifts too, accordingly
and to devise strategies to reach his goal
man becomes more creative,
more visionary and dynamic.
But when man loses his ways
he becomes a statue.
I would never love to become a statue,
soulless,
standing erect!
DIFFERENCE
Some dogs sleep,
at the fringe of a temple.
Sleeping alike are some beggars
at another fringe.
All of them are hungry
and equally soiled!
A man — well-fed and neatly clad—
walks in,
and feeds the dog with something
but walks away,
bequeathing some loathsome looks
to the beggars.
DOOR
Door
door
door
door
door
I have made an entry into the world
opening a door
and since then, I have always been opening
newer doors.
One day, when I shall open a new door
and make a passage through it
it shall slam at my back
never to open again
leaving behind all footsteps
of several bygone years,
like memory.
Where would I reach, after that?
WAITING
In front of an antique house
there lie a few new bricks
uniformly placed in line
Why could they be lying
thus at the place?
Could they be waiting for a time
when the tall building shall crumble
and they shall be used to erect
a new house in its place?
In fact, whatever is old
crumbles one day,
to allow room
for the new ones to rise.
NEWER DREAMS
Coming out of an old house,
the new dream treads
along an old, narrow lane
and reaches an old school
where newer beliefs try to germinate
and light, in fleck tries to glitter
and show newer paths
to both old and new generation of people
in a town, devoid of electric light!
Narrow is the lane
and old too,
it’s damaged at places, badly;
yet, it has not closed up anywhere….
HANGING
Hanging is not always
a thing to loathe
In civilization
hanging accords worth
to many a thing
Hanging under the canopy of the blue firmament
are clouds—black and white
from artistic windows of old houses
red chillies hang in garlands
and from beautiful attics
there hang bunches of garlic bulbs
or ears of dry corn clustered in a bunch!
The shabby panniers hang
and so do spades and hoe,
as do the clothes—new and old
hung in the sun after a wash!
When all these colors
come together
the tune of life
gets a new, beautiful hue.
LIFE
Red
yellow
orange
gray
blue
purple and green — many a hue
like in the rainbow
Joy
tears
cravings
passion and enthusiasm
extreme distress
darkness, light
and innumerable dreams!
When all come in a row
lending support to one another
accepting each other’s worth
a name takes birth
and acquires momentum!
Life!
INSIDE
The heart lies inside;
inside runs the crimson blood
that ever flows like a brook
inside the veins
the hot throbbing pounds
ever crooning like a symphony.
The tune of life too is inside—
inside a home.
The brain
lies housed inside the cranium
and in it are locked
wisdom and intellect, inside!
The light that illuminates you
too emanates from within!
And why are you, lost in fixes
wandering without, all the time?
Behold! I open the door
and step inward.
KUMARI: THE LIVING GODDESS
I was quite small
nimble and curious in many things;
I loved many, and envied a few
laughed freely
and sometimes cried in brawls.
I was, in short,
a decent girl.
One day, tradition forced upon me a new cloak
and people began to worship me with reverence!
After that I saw a goddess in me
as in front of a mirror, I stood.
Living Goddess—serious and responsible
sans sensibilities and movements
listening to people’s pleas and cravings
and blessing each of them!
At present too,
I am decent as I was in the past.
One day, the same tradition shall forsake
the veil I own, and take it away;
I shall once again be under the blue sky, free
and fly, like birds, in the world of imagination.
Even then, as an ordinary human
I shall be considered decent.
I shall perhaps muse—
which form of mine shall be the best
among these decencies!
I, left with no power to bless people now, shall perhaps think:
‘Can one become a goddess and human, at the same time?’
Poems by Bhisma Upreti from the Book Kathmandu Kaleidoscope: Kathmandu and beyond…
TVOJE OČI
Tvoje oči so lepše
od neba Britanije.
V tvojih očeh
so sanje in barve mavrice;
plavo nebo je v njih,
sonce in mesec nenehno sijeta.
Nebo Britanije se upira mojim željam.
Tako pogosto joče:
kako naj leti mavrica!?
Lumana, hčerkica moja,
tvoje oči so lepše
od neba Britanije.
23. september 1999,
Southampton, Anglija
DNEVE
Dneve in dneve sem gledal oblake,
iskal nekaj,
kar bi lahko sprejel.
A sem našel oblake tu zmeraj
zelo drugačne.
V Nepalu
v oblakih cveti cvetje,
slike se izostrijo –
tu se oblaki zmeraj
spreminjajo v črke;
in namesto topline
sestavljajo neznane stavke
v nekem tujem jeziku.
Gledal sem jih dneve in dneve.
13. oktober 1999,
Southampton, Anglija
BOŽIČ ’99
Zaklenjena vrata in prodajalne,
ulica povsem prazna in pusta;
ob s snegom razvajeni cesti
komaj da še vzdrži:
zameteno drevje, kot starci-predniki
brez sanj.
Kot da je v mestu policijska ura,
in sanje morajo biti za zapahi.
Ni prostora za reko občutij;
celo glasen pogovor
je izključen,
in izjave ljubezni.
Če sploh je, ves up je v cerkvah.
Za zaprtimi vrati
sveče brlijo kot upi
in duša se pripogiba,
zaogrnjena s tišino.
Boga ne moreš prevarati.
Kot oči nočne straže
vse vidi.
