My eyes are upon the trees.
For, trees do not live in fragments.
Till they fall, they stand
Flanked by life in its own embrace.
In the daytime sun is enough
In the rain, rain.
Their hunger does not outdo
The size of their won.
Breeze means a dance for them
Moon means joy.
When darkness accompanies them
They invite it for sports.
Trees do not seek to get
Beyond where their roots meet
They never dream of flying, Their
Roots in the air.
They do not need anything but
Soil to stand on.
They don't pine for a thing after
Branches, leaves, birds.
Trees do not allow, their dreams
Further than the horizon
Their eyes meet.
And I, weary of life's
Haste and woes,
Tired in the mind, body and all else,
Here sit on the earth low
And against the background of
The horizon of a rising moon,
Stare at the trees.
Ah! They are erect without cares
Those evergreen temples,
Across the landscape
Of my eyes.
Even if they try to pluck it,
the flower submits itself onto their hands.
If it happens to prick their heels,
the thorn scorns itself all its life.
The dream too thinks twice, gets filtered to go soft
to be seated on their eyes.
Once positioned on their lips,
even the scariest of words
come out as a melodious lisp.
The hill river rushing downhill, mocking at birds,
having heard their clean laughter
repents for its pride
and flows quietly to Madhes.
Even If they fall during their play,
the nature, having come
under the spell of their creative sports,
doesn’t know when they again start to play so full of jest.
Believing that they fall unknowingly
the ground, mostly, does not even hurt them.
Even after the ages of exercise, not any flower could adopt
the innocence of their smile.
Instruments of music, after their company
with music maestros for centuries,
failed to acquire the sonority of their voice.
If they smash, the flower vase assumes a smile
while turning into pieces.
For a chance to be spilled by their hands,
anything they hold gets spilled itself full of happiness.
For a chance to play with them,
water forgets about its own colourlessness.
I wonder –
didn’t the Creator really do injustice?
With a power to defeat everyone without any battle,
children are busy at play with the most beautiful moments of their life.
Once they grow conscious of it,
those moments will have gone away
never to return to them.
(Translated by Mukul Dahal)
I've also felt
all windows were watching
all walls were listening,
I'd also felt at that time
streets and footpaths were speaking
and veils were lifting.
even when I was walking
even when I was stopping
all trees and birds
sky and stars
bosoms and bangles
were seeing everything.
in that hesitation
whether to stop or proceed
get off or get over,
all roads had appeared
I had also read
on the face of surroundings
some cracked expectations.
I've touched some sentences
and have kissed some words.
Eyes that obstruct the road can be removed
but what happens when hearts block the passage?
I've also pretended not to see
the windows and walls.
At such time
it has also seemed to me
there've been conspiracies against me,
search for instruments
to hit me in my words
has also been going on.
I've also felt
those eyes and looks
have also been sending a river
of the flowers of feelings somewhere,
raising a hill of the aromas of imagination.
And have experienced at such time
my mind sleeping in the joy of love.
and have felt some arid passion taking me somewhere
lopping off sensitive branches of life.
At such moments
felt my mind wake up with the temptation of life
gathering courage for flowering beauty
even in the desert of living.
Do not think
I've reached where I am now
by slipping like a landslide
or evaporating like a cloud.
I've climbed up here
holding the hilt of time's sword
after driving it
into my tender heart.
Whether anybody comes to convince me or not
a part of my life does always ache
arresting my chest.
(Translated by Abhi Subedi)