दन्त्य कथा – गोपाल प्रसाद रिमाल 

दन्त्यकथाकी राजकुमारी र एक गरीब !

कसरी तिनका ठूला लाम्चिला आँखाहरु

एक जोडी ताराझैं माथिबाट तल झरे

र त्यो गरीबको हृदयमा स्वर्गीय जलन सल्काइदिए ?

फेरि कसरी हिलोको कमलमा परेका

दुई थोपा शीतजस्ता गरीबका आँखामा

स्वर्गले आफ्नो छाया देख्यो ?

ताज्जुबको कुरा छ,

तर यो मीठो कुरा दिन

दन्त्यकथा कन्जुसी गर्दछ

दन्त्यकथा खालि यत्ति भन्छ:

उनीहरुको प्रेम पर्‍यो !

हो, पानी झैं पर्‍यो होला

अनि आगो झैं बल्यो होला ।

राजपथको छोटो हेराहेरमा

मर्यादाशीला राजकुमारीको हेराइ, चलाइबाट तेरो भोक मेट्न

जलन सेलाउने के कुरा पाउँछस् र तँ

स्वर्गको ढुकुटी नै पाएझैं गरेर शरद्को बादलझैं

शिर उच्चा गर्दै हिँड्छस्, ए गरीब !

के तँ फेरि साउनको बादलझैं निचोरिन्नस् ?

भेटको असम्भावनाले पत्थर भएर तेरो मुटु किच्तैन ?

आँधीको बिजुली भएर

तेरो बादलझैं बर्सने छातीलाई कोपर्दैन ?

यस्तो मीठो दर्दको कुरा दिन

दन्त्यकथा कन्जुसी गर्दछ ।

कथाको गरीब गम्भीर छ,

जादूले अर्कै भएजस्तो छ

ऊ हावाजत्तिकै हलुका भएर राजकुमारीको खोपीमा पुग्दछ

उनीहरुको बिहे हुन्छ । 

Poem – A Gift For The Romantic – John Tansey 

A Gift for the Romantic 
It is in the subtlety 

And not the blunt insult, 

The threat and not the onslaught; 

The implied and not the explicit. 

It is in the first gleaning, 

remembered scents of Spring 

And not the direct, 

Overhead heat of Summer. 

The autumnal dread 

And not the dead of Winter; 

The sweet dream of sleep 

And not the bleak morning after. 

When somewhere between the gift, 

And it’s crumpled paper wrapping, 

Lie an infinity 

Of finite things to be chosen: 

But of a thousand choices 

if I must choose one, 

I would settle, instead, 

For the choice and forego the choosing… 

Poem – A Cup of Tea – John Tansey

My brains chemicals 
affords a few moments from my mood 

to rinse out a dirty pot 

pour some cold water 

from a spout 

and turning to the stove, 

light a low flame 

find a tin cup 

two tea bags, honey and some cream 
and I wait… 
Water sizzling around the rim, 

I pull a sleeve over my hand 

lift the hot handle 

warm water pours in the cup 

and dipping the tea bags up and down 

stir them around 

and let it steep 
again, I wait…

Poem – Temple, London (For Maggie Hindley) – Yuyutsu Sharma

Wind howled 

like the trumpet of a fierce Kali 

rushed in through 

the Temple Tube Station 

to slap my face 

to smother the flame 

of my breath 

and blind my vision 

as I soared 

floaing up the steely slope 

of the ecsclators 

in spirit of reaching 

a hillside shrine 

that our goddesses 

always prefer to live on. 
Once up 

out of the Station 

in the freezing cold 

as I exerted to push 

my overcoat up 

my shaking frame 

I saw her there 

on the wet pavement 

out alone in the open 

with a swollen black eye 

and an issue of The Big Issue 

held like a trophy, 

a sacrificial rooster 

against her sagging breast.

Poem – The Fewa Lake – Yuyutsu Sharma 

From the shoulder of a hill 

from a garden restaurant where 

exhausted tourists lie, massaging 

hysteric limbs of a nightmare, 

from dingy tea-shop 

of a grandma, crying from 

the smoke of her charred dreams, 

from the balcony 

of a hut where a blonde Buddhist nun 

sleeps with a local drug addict, 

from Naudada, 

from Lumle, from the luminous sheets 

of the windows of a racing car 

or like a despot 

of once a famished principality, Sarangkot, 

from an airplane 

with nose of snobbery ticking 

the gleaming summits of fishtail 

from the colorful pages 

of a coffee table book, 

from the fury of the goddess 

who created the lake to avenge 

the unkind inhabitants of the valley, 

from the sunken sockets 

of a porter’s eyes where 

magnificent draggers of Himal have grown, 

from the obscene columns 

of a magazine on frozen peaks of Himal, 

printed from the evil ink donated 

by some treacherous NGO, 

from the bedroom of trekking couple, 

about to reach an orgasm in unison, 

from the bleeding eye of a folksinger 

in love with local Sahu’s daughter, 

from the prow of a ferry 

scurrying over surface to measure its secrets, 

from the tip of the fishtail 

where lamblike sun bounces defunct, 

from the unfinished draft 

of this poem that I tear off 

to look at the blue 

of the Eye-lake, Fewa.

Poem – Sagarmatha – Yuyutsu Sharma 

The turquoise lake

that longs to belong to the ocean 

trapped to see 

dazzling face of the Everest. 

The climbers from the world over 

come to see their haggard faces 

in the clear light of her crystal eyes 

before facing the forehead of the Sky 


A hope 

that someday I shall sprout 

like a tree 

on the edge of a remote hillside. 

A hope 

someday a Queen-of-the-Night 

shall bloom in my chest 

and suck all the smoke 

I have inhaled 

in these malignant cities. 

A hope that someday 

a just born brook shall clean 

and wash 

bacteria of greed in me. 

A hope that someday 

a Buddha meditating in the niche of a cairn 

by the heap of the city 

garbage shall shake his limbs 

and walk away towards a village of eternity 

to take another birth 

to save me 

from the shame of becoming a glacier.