Poem – Sonnet 

The way the world is not
Astonished at you

It doesn’t blink a leaf

When we step from the house

Leads me to think

That beauty is natural, unremarkable

And not to be spoken of

Except in the course of things

The course of singing and worksharing

The course of squeezes and neighbors

The course of you tying back your raving hair to go out

And the course of course of me

Astonished at you

The way the world is not 

Poem  –  Chicago 

‘My age, my beast!’ – Osip Mandelstam 
On the lips a taste of tolling we are blind

The light drifts like dust over faces

We wear masks on our genitals

You’ve heard of lighting cigarettes with banknotes we used to light ours with Jews

History is made of bricks you can’t go through it

And bricks are made of bones and blood and

Bones and blood are made of little tiny circles that nothing can go through 

Except a piano with rabies

Blood gushes into, not from, our wounds

Vietnamese Cuban African bloods

Constellations of sperm upon our bodies

Drunk as dogs before our sons

The bearded foetus lines up at the evolution-trough

Swarmy bloods in the rabid piano

The air over Chicago is death’s monogram

This is the Were-Age rushing past

Speed: 10,000 men per minute

This is the species bred of death

The manshriek of flesh

The lifeless sparks of flesh
Covering the deep drums of vision

O new era race-wars jugular-lightning

Dark glance bursting from the over-ripe future

Know we are not the smilelines of dreams

Nor the pores of the Invisible

Piano with rabies we are victorious over

The drum and the wind-chime

We bite back a voice that might have emerged

To tame these dead bodies aid wet ashes 

Poem – Picture 

Meadow of matchsticks,
soon to be rekindled

by Spring the incendiary.
The exact flame of your blossoms

will ignite the passions

happily sapped by time–
Dripdrop their excess went

and now miners’ hats

light up like love before
your vein, the frame of which

is there to depict the drift,

the waste when I painted
all the review copies

they sent me. But those books

open to polar pages where you
and I weigh the ends of this

teeter totem down, you

at the head and nadir me;
where postmortem is

the aura of self-portrait,

its other half regained at last. 

Birsi Birsi – Madhav Prasad Ghimire

लीला माइतका भुलेर घरका धन्दा तिमीले गर्यो
आमाको ममता भुलेर कसरी माया मलाई गर्यो

छातीबाट झिकेर प्राणसरिका छोरी मलाई दियौ

हेरी आखिर घाटबाट रसिला आँखा ममा चिम्लियौ
‘ख्वै छोरीहरु छन् कता, म त गएँ, ख्वै माइती छन् कहाँ !

प्यारा ! यति रहेछ भेट, टुहुरी हेरेर बस्नु यहाँ !’

धोको यत्ति कहेर के हृदयले उल्टीरहेकी थियौ

हेरी आखिर घाटबाट रसिला आँखा ममा चिम्लियौ
मैले सोधिनँ, अन्त्यकाल कुनमा धोको अडेको थियो

मैले रोइनँ, प्राण जान कतिको बाधा परेको थियो

हेरेँ टुल्टुल खाली, दीन मुखमा हेरीरहेकी थियौ

हेरी आखिर घाटबाट रसिला आँखा ममा चिम्लियौ
आँसू झर्न सकेन खालि रसिला आँखा लिएकी थियौ

बाक्लो फुट्न सकेन खालि दिलको भाषा भनेकी थियौ

मेरो ध्यान गरी मभित्र कसरी आत्मा मिलाईदियौ

हेरी आखिर घाटबाट रसिला आँखा ममा चिम्लियौ
गथ्र्यौँ दम्पति मृत्युका पनि कुरा माया र सन्तोषमा

भन्थ्यौ– मैँ पहिले मरुँ हजुरको प्यारो यही काखमा !

साँच्चै भाग्यवती सती हृदयकी सच्चा ! मलाई जित्यौ

हेरी आखिर घाटबाट रसिला आँखा ममा चिम्लियौ
तिम्रो पाप थिएन, चार दिनको चोला थियो कञ्चन

तिम्रो धर्म थियो, सुन्यौ दिनभरी श्रीकृष्णको कीर्तन

राती शीतल मेघको मनि महानिद्रा सजीलै लियौ

हेरी आखिर घाटबाट रसिला आँखा ममा चिम्लियौ
तिम्रो रुप र माधुरी धमिलिँदै जाला कुनै कालमा

जानेछन् अनि बिर्र्सदै गुन पनी यो बैगुनी विश्वमा

बिर्सि बिर्सिसकिन्न किन्तु कहिल्यै जो यो अनौठो गर्यो

हेरी आखिर घाटबाट रसिला आँखा ममा चिम्लियौ

Lagdachha Malai Ramailo – Madhav Prasad Ghimire

लाग्दछ मलाई रमाइलो मेरै पाखा पखेरो
हिमालचुली मन्तिर पानी भर्ने पँधेरो
लेकै हेर्यौ लाली गुराँस बेंसी हेर्यो प्याउली

पिरती बास्ने परेवा बिरह बोल्ने न्याउली

हिमाल छुन्छ बेलुकी सप्तर्षिको ताँतीले

जुनेली रात बिताउँछु गाउँदा गाउँदै साथीले
सम्झन्छु म हिउँचुली आँसुको ढिका खसाली

यो बिरानो मुलुकमा बस्दैन माया बसाली

वनमा घाम नलागे जगत सारा अँधेरो

नौडाँडाको पारीमा प्रीतिको देश छ मेरो
मेरो कान्ले लेकैलाई पाकेर जाने बादल

हातले मैले नछोए पनि छ कति कोमल

डर लाग्छ मलाई यही बादलु छायाँले

पार्दछ जहाँ इन्द्रेणी पाइला भिज्ने मायाले

Poem – Man of the House

It was a misunderstanding.
I got into bed, made love
with the woman I found there,
called her honey, mowed the lawn,
had three children, painted
the house twice, fixed the furnace,
overcame an addiction to blue pills,
read Spinoza every night
without once meeting his God,
buried one child, ate my share
of Jell-o and meatloaf,
went away for nine hours a day
and came home hoarding my silence,
built a ferris wheel in my mind,
bolt by bolt, then it broke
just as it spun me to the top.
Turns out I live next door.