Friday, March 20, 2020

गल्ती

भर्खरै भर्ना भएको नयाँ विद्यालय
कक्षा आठको तेश्रो दिन
तेश्रो पिरियडको सुरू हुनुभन्दा दुई मिनेट अघि
जब अन्तिम बेन्चतिर फर्कियो तिम्रो मुहार
ठीक त्यसैबेला सुरू भएको हो
हाम्रा आँखाहरूको मौन संवाद
जो अविछिन्न चलिरह्यो
त्यसपछिका कम्तिमा आधा दशक 

सम्झिल्याउँदा जिन्दगीमा
ऊबेलादेखि आजसम्म अनेक गल्तीहरू गरियो
सरले पढाइरहँदा तिमीले आँखा झिम्क्यायौ
आफुले पनि झिम्काइयो
कस्सम कान्छी,
तिम्रै सम्झनामा कति रात अनिदो बिताइयो
तिमीले दिनदिनै ल्याइदिने डेरीमिल्क,
सरले सोध्दा खुसुक्क उत्तर सिकाइदिने बानी,
जन्मदिनको चकलेट,
साइन्सको भाइभा,
कत्ति कत्ति... नराखौं यी गल्तीहरूको हिसाब
टाँस्दा टाँस्दै स्कुलको भित्तेपत्रिका
पत्तै भएन कहिले टाँसियो तिमीसँग म

कम्पासले कोरेर बेन्चमाथी लेखिएका
तिम्रा र मेरा नामका सुरुवाती अक्षरहरू,
सुसेली हालेर एकअर्कालाई जिस्काइरहने साथी,
कक्षाबीच कुरा गर्दा केरिने नोटबुकका अन्तिम पन्नाहरू,
खो-खो र कबड्डीको खेल
सँगैसँगै घर फर्किने दोबाटो,
यी सबै मेरा गल्तीका मौन दर्शकहरू हुन् 

फर्काउन मिल्थ्यो भने समय
कसैगरी उल्टोतिर
र दोहोर्याउन मिल्थ्यो भने कुनै पल जिन्दगीमा,
कस्सम कान्छी, म हरेकपल्ट
जीवनकै सबैभन्दा स्वर्णिम गल्ती,
तिमीसंग पहिलोपटक आँखा जुधेको पल दोहिर्याउने थिएँ 
किनकी -
सही-सलामत रहुन्जेलसम्म यो दृष्टी
यी आँखाहरू कहिल्यै अघाउन्नन् तिमीलाई हेरेर

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

I stopped writing letters


I'd listen for you
in the hum of humming bird
and look around, in every star
in every nook and crevice
in every sunset and every sunrise!







I stopped writing letters
The doctor says
Blood cells in my body are depleting
How shall he know,
The heart ain’t a mere pump
Beating, thumping, trickling ….

Oh inapt,
How shall thou determine ailment
by sensing the pulsation?
But ought you dive to depths of heart
And listen intently
to discover ‘faults’ in the story

Is it de rigueur to exhaust blood?
I squandered, till today
Blood-ink that the deity gave
At times, together with her,
Largely- much before time
And, what remains now is
All for her to use this pump
I stopped writing letters
As no one’s left to read them now
Left are ones, who check grammar between lines
Left are ones who check nerves, not emotions anyway

I stopped writing letters
My doctor says: the blood has run out
How shall he know-
The triumph, whatever, too is ailing now

And maybe…
Maybe he knows, my heart is a mere pump now.

I stopped writing letters [to her]

Saturday, October 22, 2016

लुकामारी

Shall thou be my doctor,
I'll be a patient 24X7 

अरे
म त आधामात्रै पो हुँ
अन्तै कतै छोडीआएको छु आफ्नो आधा स्वरुप

आधा हुनु भनेको अपुरो हुनु होइन
आधा हुँदैमा एक्लो, अधुरो भन्नु पनि हुँदैन
हँसियाजस्तै घुमेको आधा चन्द्रमा
पुरै गोलोभन्दा पनि राम्रो देखिन्छ
जसरी राम्रो देखिन्छ
अलिकति ओठ खुल्दा देखिने
उनको आधा मुस्कान

उनी पनि त आधा छिन्
म पनि त आधा छु
तर आधा-आधा नै भएर सही
फरक फरक गोलार्धमा रहेरै सही
हामीबीच यौटा पुल छ समानताको
उनी मलाई पूरा गर्छिन, म उनलाई पूरा गर्छु

उनी डाक्टरी पढ्दैछिन्,
म रोग जम्मा गरिरहेछु 

Monday, October 3, 2016

दस्सैं


हजुर,
म यो दशको आन्तरिक पर्यटक

हरेक साल दशैं लागेपछि
राजधानी छोड्छु,
कोचिएर थोत्रो मिनीबसभित्र
उक्लन्छु पहाड र पुग्छु गाउँ -
उही धुलाम्मे बाटाहरू
जहाँ दौडदादौडदै
मेरै पछि छुटेको थियो मेरो बाल्यकाल
त्यही भूगोल जहाँ
बयर र ऐंसेलुका घारीभारी अनगिन्ती दौंतरीहरू छोडेर
गुराँसका डालीहरूमा  एक अन्जुली मुस्कान छोडेर
बर्षौंपहिले हिंडेको थिएँ शहर
सपना सिंगार्न

हजुर,
म यो दशको आन्तरिक पर्यटक
हरेक बर्ष दशैँ लागेपछि उसैगरी सुरु हुन्छ
र दशैं सकिएपछि उसैगरी सकिन्छ
मेरो वार्षिक भ्रमण शृंखला                                        
                                       (September 27)

Sunday, July 31, 2016

An Ode to my Love

Would I resurface,
and see the sun again?
My muse smiles her crooked smile!

Sometimes, I wonder
You and I
If we meet someday
How will we calm
our shy heartbeats?
I think we'll just pass poems
written on napkins to each other..
Steal a few shy glances,
Sip the now-turned-cold coffee,
And walk away
Reminiscing the paths we didn’t take
While we could...

Back home -
You’ll write a poem
On some random page of diary
That I gifted you
on your twentieth birthday
Packed without the red rose and a love letter
that I so, so much wanted to keep
(Though, never did so, someway)
About how we ended up being mere footnotes
While we could have made a whole history
And slowly, silently close the diary-
your own heart crushed between pages
Where you just left the pen as bookmark!

And back home-
With a broad smile on my face
I'll write a story of how 
I met an immaculate girl on one of my high school grades
And how our eyes talked for the first time,
The first time I saw your teeth
behind bars of those imperfectly-curled lips
The sharing of glitzy smile
Those extra-chocolates you gave me on your birthday,
so hurried that someone might see and tease
Times you signaled answers on my viva tests
And got yourself rebuked
Of how we were like the adjacent stars-
Everyone saw us together,
But only did we know the millions of light year separating us away
of how LIFE happened in between, and 
LOVE slipped through our unconfessed words.
I'll write the masterpiece of all my stories
The love story of two fireflies 
who never met at the crisscross to walk together

That day,
My muse shall smile your crooked smile!

Friday, June 10, 2016

Consolation

I feel you bruh, I feel you :)
Sometimes,
Nation fails, economies fall
Prodigious things collapse in no time
So [darling],
It’s okay to fail
It’s okay not to be okay, sometimes

When you’re hitting lowest of your days,
And downpour of misfortune soaks the abbeys;
Sometimes -
When your ears are too small for your heart
To understand the words inside
Come to me,
For I won’t ask questions;
Instead I’ll sit besides, listen and offer you
My shoulders to rest your chin,
My chest to cry in
Cause sometimes,
It’s okay to breakdown, loose and cry
For moon won’t be lovely with no taint of scars
For were there no  night, you won’t see the stars

Sometimes,
You should lose things to gain better
Ignite your fortitude and
Keep going, going, going...
Believe me, sometimes -
Lost is a beautiful place to find yourself!

 
 May 4, 2016

Sunday, May 22, 2016

SHE

She- She was art
The masterpiece, indeed! 


She was a canvas colored so bright
Warmth of the sun
Very definition of light
But insecure, she took a brush
And painted herself darker than the black,
Hoping to change: the way she was
Only then did she realize
She was already a masterpiece
Right from the birth
Created, unlike others, to be unique
And also she knew-
The most beautiful is often called bizarre!
She wasn’t just a girl

She was the storm with skin!

May 3, 2016

***
Related :  http://goo.gl/XCfxwr

Thursday, May 12, 2016

सपना

Few weeks ago, beautiful pictures of Rara flooded my timeline in Twitter and I could do nothing than write these broken lines to pacify the urge of reaching there. 


Rara at the dusk!
Photo by @Drishhya

सपना नै सही,
त्यो राराको पानीमा खुट्टा चोबल्दै
सुन्दै झ्याउँकिरीहरूको नबुझिने संगीत
पानीमुनीको आकाशमा अनगिन्ती पटक
बनाउँदै-फुकाउँदै,
फुकाउँदै-बनाउँदै
हाम्रा औँलाहरूको गाँठो
पोतिदिनेछु तिम्रा गालाहरूमा
डुब्नै डुब्नै लागेको घामको रातो लाली
समय यति सुन्दर हुनेछ कि
पल्लो किनारको घाम पनि
लजाएर- लुक्नेछ पानीमुनी

निम्तो स्वीकारेर आउनु
र आउँदा- आँखाभरी
उही ट्रेडमार्क मुस्कान बोकेर आउनु
तिम्रो स्वागतमा
स्निग्ध राराको जलघडा बोकेर
पर्खीबसेको मै हुनेछु

Thursday, May 5, 2016

Short Poems(1)

जिन्दगी

कविहरूले लेखे
जिन्दगी यस्तो हुनुपर्थ्यो
यो आउनुपर्थ्यो
त्यो हट्नुपर्थ्यो
मैले भनेँ -
तिमी आउनु ,
छेउमा बस्नु र हाँसिदिनु
जीवन यस्सै सुन्दर हुनेछ
....................................................................

मोफसलको चिठी

म बोल्दा बिथोलिन्छ तिम्रो निद्रा
मेरो कलमले खुब घोच्न थालेको छ तिमीलाई,
तिम्रो कुर्चीमुनी
जरूर गएको छ भुइँचालो
यति बुझिराख्नु
रगतको होली खेलिराखेर मात्रै
धेरै टिक्न सक्दैन तिम्रो सत्ता

ओ राजधानी, भन-
हाम्रा कविता बिरूद्ध
कहिलेसम्म पड्काउँछौ बन्दुक?
कति दिन मार्छौ हामीलाई?
कलमको आँशुले भिजेपछि एकदिन
चिसो हुनेछ बारूद
र फर्किनेछ तिम्रै छातीतिर
....................................................................

जुनकिरीको संगीत

म कहानीहरूको कुरा गर्छु
तपाईँ कहालीहरूको कुरा गर्नुहुन्छ
म प्रेम गर्नुस् भनिरहन्छु
तपाईँ पैसाले पुग्दैन भन्नुहुन्छ
म जे जे गर्छु
तपाईँ ठीक उल्टो उल्टो गर्नुहुन्छ
र भन्नुहुन्छ -
“क्यै मज्जा छैन यार जिन्दगीमा”
महाशय, ओ महाशय
आउनुस्
माथी देउरालीसम्म उक्लौँ
र जुनकिरीहरूसँग सोधौँ
कति उज्यालो चाहिन्छ
जिन्दगी बिताउन?
....................................................................

Earthquake

Come near,
Hold hands
And stare into my eyes
I can rebuild you
Into monuments
Bit by bit,
Piece by piece,
Block by block
O life..
O earthquake!
....................................................................

Heartbreak

I thought I knew
What real pain felt like
But I didn’t,
Until that day
When I saw the way
You looked at her!
....................................................................

Nostalgia

Once were there
craved slow touch,
shy denial,
surrendered blushes;
Then LIFE happened
leaving behind
these memories
that translates to hiccups~
....................................................................

Monday, May 2, 2016

Things Fall Apart- Review


Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world!
            - W.B Yeats, The Second Coming

Things Fall Apart (1956) is a past-colonial novel written by Nigerian author Chinua Achebe. There must be very few literary enthusiasts who have not heard of it as this is archetypal 'modern African novel in English to have received global critical acclaim'. This is a stark and simple story of Okonkwo, one of the greatest warriors, leader and local wrestling champion in Nigerian village of Umofia. The title comes from W.B Yeats' famous poem The Second Coming.

The work is split into three parts, the first describing his family history, customs and society while the second and third sections describe aftermaths of influence of British colonialism and Christian missionaries on indigenous African society. 

The protagonist, Okwonko gains fame as local wrestling champion at tender age. He is strong, arduous and wants to dispel his father's image of being effeminate (who was coward and died with unpaid debts, outcast from clan). He works hard on his own and becomes brusque with three wives, children, and large barns and gains prestige among villagers.

On one such occasions he's selected to be guardian to Ikemefuna, a boy brought as peace settlement from other village to whom he grows fond of later. But later he ends up striking a killing blow to prove his audacity although the child seeks protection with his 'father'. The scene of Okonkwo's accidental shooting of young clansmen and his subsequent banishment is pivotal in the story. 

Upon his arrival after seven years, he finds his village blemished by the missionaries and he makes a coalition with some friends to stand against the atrocities of the Christians. Following series of tumult, he kills one of the missionaries when they try to halt villagers meeting. After murder, foreseeing the upcoming misery and offended with kinsmen, he commits suicide- the greatest sin against the gods of his people. He ends up being untouchable and outcast from his clan- something he strived lifelong not to resemble with his father. 

The plot not only reveals Okowonko's struggle and fall but also complex social fabric of people residing. The oral storytelling and rituals for planting, harvesting, and human passage sustain an orderly society. The proverbs are weaved in dialogue to clarify a point, teach lesson and mostly to provide humor. Although most of the untranslated native words are understood in context, some still create a distance between non-Ibo reader and the world depicted in the novel.

In a nutshell, this very interesting and succinct book is a story of protest and search of righteousness in part of African society. The complexity in situation and Achebe's masterful craft makes Things Fall Apart a classic novel. My recommended read for everyone once.