In my desolation
I am as duckweed:
Cut my roots and
Take me away-would the water do it,
I should go, I think.
In my desolation
I am as duckweed:
Cut my roots and
Take me away-would the water do it,
I should go, I think.
I long for him most
during these long moonless nights.
I lie awake, hot,
the growing fires of passion
bursting in my heart.
Another translation by Kenneth Rexroth:
You do not come
On this moonless night.
I wake wanting you.
My breasts heave and blaze.
My heart burns up.
Another translation:
I would meet him
But there’s no way, so on this moonless night
From my yearning the embers of my love
Send sparks leaping in my breast,
Setting my heart aflame.
How sad,
to think I will end
as only
a pale green mist
drifting the far fields.
How hollow
Are tears upon a sleeve
In gemlets;
For mine cannot be dammed
As a surging flood!
A sake barrel,
Born without hands, makes merry —
Cherry blossom time.
Fisher folk live
In villages; where
I know not, yet
Constant complaints to see the shore
Are all he seems to say.
Feeling:
This thing-most of all-is
The world of men’s
Unbreakable
Bond.
Blossoms blooming
Yet making no seed are
The sea-god’s
Garlanded
Whitecaps offshore.
Atop this crag
I am to spend a traveller’s night;
So cold!
Your robes of moss,
Won’t you lend me?
As I dozed
The man I love
Appeared, so
It is dreams that
Have begun to comfort me
We had rode long and were still far from the inn;
My eyes grew dim; for a moment I fell asleep.
Under my right arm the whip still dangled;
In my left hand the reins for an instant slackened.
Suddenly I woke and turned to question my groom:
‘We have gone a hundred paces since you fell asleep.’
Body and spirit for a while had exchanged place;
Swift and slow had turned to their contraries.
For these few steps that my horse had carried me
Had taken in my dream countless aeons of time!
True indeed is that saying of Wise Men
‘A hundred years are but a moment of sleep.’
Don’t think of the past;
It only awakens painful regrets.
Don’t think of the future;
It paralyzes with uncertain longings.
Better by day to sit like a sack in your chair;
Better by night to lie like a stone in your bed.
When food comes-open your mouth.
When sleep comes-shut your eyes.
dy smooth and steady
Sunshine room door cloth not open
Still have young spring air taste
Often brief arrive sleep at come
The pillow’s low, the quilt is warm, the body smooth and peaceful,
Sun shines on the door of the room, the curtain not yet open.
Still the youthful taste of spring remains in the air,
Often it will come to you even in your sleep.
White billows and huge waves block the river crossing;
Wherever I go, danger and difficulty; whatever I do, failure.
Just as in my worldly career I wander and lose the road,
So when I come to the river crossing, I am stopped by contrary winds.
Of fishes and prawns sodden in the rain, the smell fills my nostrils;
With the stings of insects that come with the fog, my whole body is sore.
I am growing old, time flies, and my short span runs out,
While I sit in a boat at Chiu-k’ou, wasting ten day
My house is poor; those that I love have left me;
My body is sick; I cannot join the feast.
There is not a living soul before my eyes
As I lie alone locked in my cottage room.
My broken lamp burns with a feeble flame;
My tattered curtains are crooked and do not meet.
‘Tsek, tsek’ on the door-step and window-sill
Again I hear the new snow fall.
As I grow older, gradually I sleep less;
I wake at midnight and sit up straight in bed.
If I had not learned the ‘art of sitting and forgetting,’
How could I bear this utter loneliness?
Stiff and stark my body cleaves to the earth;
Unimpeded my soul yields to Change.
So has it been for four hateful years,
Through one thousand and three hundred nights!
As evening falls,
From along the moors the autumn wind
Blows chill into the heart;
And the quails raise their plaintive cry
In the deep grass of Fukakusa village.
Our boat starts at night
from the beach of Yen Kuang.
Great ships sail only for profit
Only small boats come here because of your fame.
The passers-by are embarrassed by your virtue.
So in the night we steal by the place where you used to fish.
last
night
thin
rain,
gusty
wind.
Dense
sleep
doesn’t
fade
a wine
hangover.
I’m talking
to her
who
rolled up
the curtains.
Are you
blind!
I
say.
By now
they’re
fat
green
and skimpy
red.
Search. Search. Seek. Seek.
Cold. Cold. Clear. Clear.
Sorrow. Sorrow. Pain. Pain.
Hot flashes. Sudden chills.
Stabbing pains. Slow agonies.
I can find no peace.
I drink two cups, then three bowls,
Of clear wine until I can’t
Stand up against a gust of wind.
Wild geese fly over head.
They wrench my heart.
They were our friends in the old days.
Gold chrysanthemums litter
The ground, pile up, faded, dead.
This season I could not bear
To pick them. All alone,
Motionless at my window,
I watch the gathering shadows.
Fine rain sifts through the wu-t’ung trees,
And drips, drop by drop, through the dusk.
What can I ever do now?
How can I drive off this word —
Hopelessness?
To the melody of “Ru Meng Lin”
Last night in the light rain as rough winds blew,
My drunken sleep left me no merrier.
I question one that raised the curtain, who
Replies: “The wild quince trees — are as they were.”
But no, but no!
Their rose is waning, and their green leaves grow.
This morning I dreamed I followed
Widely spaced bells, ringing in the wind,
And climbed through mists to rosy clouds.
I realized my destined affinity
With An Ch’i-sheng the ancient sage.
I met unexpectedly O Lu-hua
The heavenly maiden.
Together we saw lotus roots as big as boats.
Together we ate jujubes as huge as melons.
We were the guests of those on swaying lotus seats.
They spoke in splendid language,
Full of subtle meanings.
The argued with sharp words over paradoxes.
We drank tea brewed on living fire.
Although this might not help the Emperor to govern,
It is endless happiness.
The life of men could be like this.
Why did I have to return to my former home,
Wake up, dress, sit in meditation.
Cover my ears to shut out the disgusting racket.
My heart knows I can never see my dream come true.
At least I can remember
That world and sigh.
A friend sends her perfumed carriage
And high-bred horses to fetch me.
I decline the invitation of
My old poetry and wine companion.
I remember the happy days in the lost capital.
We took our ease in the woman’s quarters.
The Feast of Lanterns was elaborately celebrated –
Folded pendants, emerald hairpins, brocaded girdles,
New sashes – we competed
To see who was most smartly dressed.
Now I am withering away,
Wind-blown hair, frost temples.
I prefer to stay beyond the curtains,
And listen to talk and laughter
I can no longer share.
At night the Universe grows lean, sober-
faced, of intoxication,
The shadow of the half-sphere curtains
down closely against my world, like a
doorless cage, and the stillness chained by
wrinkled darkness strains throughout the Uni-
verse to be free.
Listen, frogs in the pond, (the world is a pond itself)
cry out for the light, for the truth!
The curtains rattle ghostlily along, bloodily biting
my soul, the winds knocking on my cabin door
with their shadowy hands.
At my daughter’s grave, Thirty days
After her death
Windy fall
These are the scarlet flowers
She liked to pick
With my father
I would watch dawn
Over green fields
That pretty girl
Munching and rustling
The wrapped up rice cake.
Pissing in the snow
Outside my door
It makes a very straight hole.
How much
Are you enjoying yourself
Tiger moth ?
In spring rain
A pretty girl
Yawning
A cuckoo sings
To me to the mountain
To me to the mountain
A bath when you are born
A bath when you die
How stupid
Under my tree roof
Slanting lines of April rain
Separate to drops.
What fish feel
Birds feel, I don’t know
The year ending
Winter garden
The moon thinned to a thread
Insects singing
Wrapping dumplings in
Bamboo leaves, with one finger
She tidies, her hair
Years end all
Corners of this
Floating world,swept
अहा ! म लहरा भए मनहरा हरा भू जरा
चुसी रस फुलाउँथे कुसुम वासका सुन्दर,
रमी हृदय आउँथे चिरबिराउँदा स्वर्चरा,
स्वदेश रस बन्न गो तर कवित्व यो वर्वर !
यहाँ देश एक्लो परेको छ आज
इमानी शिरै यो झरेको छ आज
बल्यो अग्नि ज्वाला छ रातो हिमाल
डढेलो कतैको सरेको छ आज
थियौं स्वाभिमानी हिजोसम्म हामी
कसोरी भनूँ क्वै चरेको छ आज?
र, ऐना फुटेझैं फुटेको छ भाग्य
भनूँ खै कसोरी मरेको छ आज
सबै हात हाम्रा उठाएर जागौं
सधैं भोलि भन्दै टरेको छ आज
थप्दै गई मैले पिएँ,पिउनु पिएँ पिउनु पिएँ
बोतलको हेर कमाल बिग्रिएछ मेरो हाल
मालामाल मालामाल उनी मालामाल
बात लाउँछे छोएँ भने नपिएर बसेँ भने
आई हाल्छे आलङ्घनमा हात्ती गैंडा दिएँ भने
थप्दै गई मैले पिएँ पिउनु पिएँ पिउनु पिएँ
बोतलको हेर कमाल बिग्रिएछ मेरो हाल
मालामाल मालामाल उनी मालामाल
लठ्ठी लठ्ठी मागे भने हासीहासी थपी दिने
गोलमाल गोलमाल जानीबुझी गरी दिने
जानी जानी जिन्दगी यो मासीदिए मासीदिए
बोतलको हेर कमाल बिग्रिएछ मेरो हाल
मालामाल मालामाल उनी मालामाल
पत्र र पुस्तक अघि-अघि सार्दै
मरिसकेको धर्म फलाक्दै
मानिस मर्दा जुँगा मुसार्दै
तस्मै मार्दै पैसा झार्दै
स्वतन्त्र मानवलाई बिगार्दै
प्रगति देखी तल तल पार्दै
भन्छ नछोड्नू पुरुखाको रीत
जनताको त्यो दुष्मन प्रोहित
संकीर्णताको परखाल नाघी
यथार्थ वैज्ञानिक पन्थ लागी
पीडितमा जागृति बत्ति बाल
भगाइद्यौ भारतका दलाल
प्रगति भो अब व्यापक जाज्वल
परिसके प्रतिगामीहरू तल
उठिसक्यो भई व्यापक जागृति
उदित भै जनमानसको स्थिति
विजयको भई दर्पण शानमा
प्रवल भै मनको बलिदानमा
जनजागृत भै उठदै गयो
परपीडनता टुट्दै गयो
असही शोषण जागृति हो सही
जनयथार्थ कुरो बीचमा नरही
फगत नित्य रुचाइ विलासता
रहन संभव छैन कतै यता
सामन्ती अभिशाप दिन्दिन हतोत्साही हुँदै गै सक्यो
पूँजीवाद पनी जरा कुहिन गै ढल्ने बखत् भै सक्यो
शोषणको हतियार धर्म कुन छन् निर्मूल पारी दिन
मुक्ति निश्चय पाउने क्षणहरू लागि सके झल्किन
मान्छेको प्रगति नरोकिन दिने राखेर हिक्मत् पूरा
छन् आत्मा बलवान पीडितहरू संघर्षमाथी सुरा
ज्ञानोदिप्ति हुँदै गर्इ झुपडी उठ्दै ठलुा हौसला
जान्दैछन् नर-नारीले विजयमा उतिर्ण बन्ने कला
माटोमा र मसिनमाथि पसिना बग्ने करौडौं जन
छन् एकै मतबाट पीडकहरू निर्मूल गर्नाकन
ऐलेको युग विश्व शान्तितिरको बाटो खुलाई दिने
एैलेको युग क्रान्तिले रगतको साटो रगत् नै लिने
जुन क्रान्ति बीचमा भविष्य छ उज्यालो बन्न जाने गति
जसमाथि बलिदान हुन्छ सहजै पूँजी – पथ्रा – पद्धति
यो संग्राम महानको विजय श्री भोका र नांगाप्रति
यौटासम्म पनि रहन्न अब यो धर्तीमहाँ भूपति
मोदी र कालीको काखमा
उत्तर–दक्षिण तन्किएर
लमतन्न सुतेको
मेरो प्यारो जन्मभूमी कुश्मा
हिजो जस्तो थियो–आज त्यस्तो रहेन,
बान्नो (पर्खाल) मा टुक्रुक्क बसेर
सा“झ–बिहान हाम्रा हजुरबाले
गाउ“का तन्नेरीलाई सुझाउ“थे–
‘कुरा सुन्नु बुढाको–आगो ताप्नु मुढाको’
अहिले कुश्मा उल्टो दिशा हिंडिरहेछ
उहिलेका कुरा खुइले
बुढाहरु÷अनुभवीहरु पाखा लागे
तन्नेरी जमाना
फा“ट फुकेको बहरझै
इत्ला–कान्ला जोत्न व्यस्त छ,
डहर देख्न पाईंदैन कुश्मामा
पंधेरो छैन टोलमा
भएको एउटा इनार इतिहास गिज्याउदै
सिमेन्टमुनी कक्रक्क दबिएर बसेको छ,
ढिकी, जा“तो, ओखल किंवदन्ती भए
हेर्दाहेर्दै,
भुराभुरी टौवा बुझ्दैनन्
दा“इ खेल्न पाउ“दैनन्
ठेको के हो ?
मदानी के हो ?
आरी के हो ?
मधुश के हो ?
फाली के हो ?
आली के हो ?
न विरुवाको जात चिन्छन् यिनले
न सामाजिक संस्कृतिको खात चिन्छन् यिनले
‘काग कराउ“दै गर्छ–पिना सुक्दै गर्छ’
नसुनेरै÷नचिनेरै
कुश्मा दिन प्रतिदिन खुइते बनिरहेछ ।
नया“ र पुरानाबीचको खाडल
तन्काउ“दै तन्काउ“दै
रबर बनेको कुश्मा
आफ्नै भविश्यप्रति बेखवर भएको छ,
कम्प्यूटरमा रम्ने नया“ पुस्ता
यसको कुरा सुन्दैनन्
यसको उपदेश लिंदैनन्
न दाम्लो देखे तिनले
न नाम्लो देखे तिनले
डोको, थुन्से, सेखु र खुरपेटो
केवल कहानीका विषय बने तिनका लागि,
न भत्केरु बुझ्छन् तिनले
न लमी चिन्छन् तिनले
न दुनो बुझ्छन् तिनले
न टपरी ठम्याउ“छन् तिनले,
मेरो मुटु कुश्मा
अचम्मैस“ग आधुनिक बनेको छ
विश्वासै नलाग्ने गरी पराश्रित बनेको छ,
अपनत्व गुमाएर दिनदिनै
कुश्मा ढुस्स गनाउ“छ आयातित मदिरास“ग
भुक्क फुल्छ आयातित संस्कृतिस“ग
कहिले नाठा खेलाउ“छ इमान बन्दगी राखेर
कहिले भक्ति जगाउ“छ गुप्तेश्वर साक्षी राखेर,
दिन दहाडै बलात्कृत हुन्छ कुश्मा
नव–यौवनाहरुबाट
र, गर्भधारण गर्छ
विसंगतिको÷विकृतिको
फट्याईंको÷दुष्ट्याईंको,
मन्दिरमा घण्ट पनि बजेकै छन्
गुम्बाका माने पनि घुमेकै छन्
मदरसा कुरान घोकाउ“छ
मण्डली बाइबल पढाउ“छ
परन्तु,
कुश्माको कुनै धर्म छैन
गर्नै पर्ने खास कर्म छैन
खै, यसको आफ्नै श्वर छैन
आफ्नै गौरव छैन
आफैमाथि भर छैन
धेरै भएर पनि केही नभए जस्तो
हरेक प्रभातस“गै नक्कली बनेर व्याउ“छ
हरेक सा“झस“गै सक्कली देखिने उपक्रम गर्छ
तर,
सबै उपक्रमको नतिजा अनुतीर्णमा दरेर
कुश्मा पल–पल निचोरिइरहेको छ
आफूलाई मर्द लाठेहरुबाट निचोराईरहेको छ
पेलिनु र ठेलिनुको नियति
शीरदेखि पाउसम्म
कुश्मा खिईंदै गएको छ
सुक्दै गएको छ मोदीबेनीको फेदैसम्म ।
आदर्श सुखको सपना सा“चेर
निसासिंदो कल्पना बोकेर
रातारात कङ्क्रीटको
जंगल बन्न व्यस्त कुश्मा
ध्वनि, धुवा“ र धूलोस“ग
होली खेल्दै
आफ्नो परिचय खोज्छ
साच्चै म को हु“ ? कहा“ छु ?
ठिमाहा संस्कृतिको कोलाहलमा
बित्ता र हात नापेर चिरिंदा पनि
ऐइया–आत्था भन्न जान्दैन कुश्मा
आर्त र बेदना सहेर पनि सौम्य देखिन्छ कुश्मा,
सभ्यताको कृतिम उत्कर्षमा
चाकडी, चाप्लुसी र खुराफाती संस्कार
मौलिक गुण बनाए झैं
कुश्मा दलाली गर्छ आक्कल झुक्कल
ठालूको दैला चाहार्छ
नेताको पाउ मुसार्छ
चेपारे बन्छ
दहिच्यूरे हुन्छ
तर पनि,
कुपोषित ठान्दैन यसले आफूलाई
निरिह मान्दैन यसले आफूलाई
बरु अखबारका पानामा
भंगेराटाउके अक्षरमा विज्ञापन
छाप्छ÷छपाउ“छ यसले
र पुलकित दावा गर्छ,
कुशै कुशले भरिएको परी
कुश्मा नामधारी कुशुमपुर नगरी ।।
साथ दीने मान्छेको
अब याद मात्र बाकीछ
दुखमा साथदीने हातहरुको
अब छाप मात्र बाकीछ
जीबन भनु केही रहेन येस्तो
बस दिन र रात मात्र बाकी छ
मेरो मन त अब मरी सक्यो
तेस्को राख मात्र बाकी छ
बसन्त आयो गयो
सुकेको पात मात्र बाकी छ
गल्ती मैले गरी सके
पसछ्याताप मात्र बाकी छ
पाप मैले गरेको हु
तेस्को दाग अझै बाकी छ
मैले मारेको बीस्वाषको
लास अझै बाकी छ
smelling like a crazy rose,
are you chewing a gum,
or are you a chewing gum?
once you kiss me,
you’re too sticky,
don’t ever let me;
while you hug me,
you’re so velvety,
and so slippery,
yet so sticky,
like you chewing a gum,
or you a chewing gum.
walking with my head down,
coming across a puddle,
now I find a cherry tree
in full blossom.
Once it was in full bloom,
Now it is scattering its petals.
One is here,
One is there.
you look pale,
alone in the dark staggering;
so does my life.
and you’ll be extinguished,
transient but not meaningless;
so do I wish my life would be.
twining around her waist,
making her sigh,
oh,
wanna be her belt.
म पनिप्रेम गर्थे
अगाढ
असिम
र अनन्त
मैले कहिल्यै प्रेमको गन्तव्य तोकिन
मेरो प्रेम
यहीसम्म पुगेर
टुंगिन्छ भनेर अकल लगाइन
अनु-
तिमि भन्थ्यौ-
प्रेमको अन्तिम गन्तव्य-
बिवाह हो
तर तिम्रो अड्कल गलत भो
हाम्रो प्रेमको गन्तव्य
विवाहमा पुगेर टुंगिएन
निश्चिन्त
विवाह भयो
बिहे भनेको त
झकिझकाउ शृंगार रहेछ
भयङ्कर लेनदेन रहेछ
बिहेपछिको-प्रथम रात
अर्थात
सबैले बुझेको सुहागरात
बुझेको नभनु
सुनेको सुहागरात
मैले पनि
यस्तै एउटा
सुहागरात भोगे
सुहागरात भनेको
मनसंगको प्रेम होइन रहेछ
यो रात
माया कम
बासना ज्यादा
हुँदो रहेछ
अनु
सुहागरातले
प्रशस्त पीडा दियो
निको नहुने चोट दियो
तिमी नै भन अनु
सुहागरातले दिएको चोट
के म भुल्न सकुँला र?
Fleas, Lice
A horse peeing
Near my pillow
A weathered skeleton
In windy fields of memory
Piercing like a knife
A strange Flower
For buds and butterflies
The autumn sky
Bush warbler
Shits on the rice cakes
On the porch rail
A bee
Staggers out
Of the peony
Buying Leeks
And walking home
Under the bare trees
The old man
Cutting barley
Bent like a sickle
Lighting one candle
With another candle
Spring evening
Ploughing the land
Not even a bird singing
In the mountains shadow
Early summer rain
Houses facing the river
Two of them
A Mosquite buzzes
Every Time flowers
Of honeysuckle fall
Blow of an ax
Pine scent
The winter woods
A bat flits
In moonlight
Above the plum blossoms
Over Ripe Sushi
The Master
Is full of regret
Life is short
Leaves have dried and fallen
Time is running out
My mind so muddled
Birds singing merrily
Back to work with smile
Shadow of own
Protuberant stomach
Tomorrow on diet
My dog is sleeping
Smiling and bow wowing
Perhaps chasing rabbits
Cry not
On your knees confide silently
Peace from him above
Waiting
Little mouths open wide
For mother bird
Under the cherry tree
Flowers flying everywhere
See you, next spring
Dark clouds in the sky
Today ten percent discount
Better bring more bags
Gentle kiss lingers
Their fingers two ring adorn now
Honeymoon becons
Dyeing her white hair
Black to camouflage her age
Wrinkles won’t lie.
On Christmas Day
Children’s eyes shine like stars
Waiting for the surprise
Cat at the mirror
Excited, greet the other
What is it thinking?
Amazing candy
Conquers bitter medicine
Life’teacher
Summer camp fire
Doors locked, everyone’s out
The lonely house
Soap bubbles flying
Tiny claps, gentle jump
Melting mother’s heart.
In Africa
Giraffe at one hotel window
What is for the breakfast ?
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