A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty

Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.

Miranda in Miranda’s sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.

Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.

Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.

Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What’s a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?

Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then–
How old is Spring, Miranda?

Poem – Always Marry An April Girl

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true —
I love April, I love you.

Lyrics – Jaba Jaba Timro Saath

जब जब तिम्रो साथ, मिल्दैमिल्दै गयो।…२
धरोधर्म मेरो जिन्दगी, कायापलट भयो।
[यस्तै माया गरिरहुँ, अँगालोमा बेरिरहूँ।
सधै तिम्रै हुने, मन छ।
यो मनले सधैँलाई, माया गर्दै तिमीलाई।
ढुकढुकी बनाउछु भन्छ। ]…२

लाग्छ मलाई, मेरी जीवन फिका रहेछ पहिले।…२
स्वर्ग झैँ आभाष हुन्छ, आफ्नै जिन्दगी अहिले।
[यस्तै माया गरिरहुँ, अँगालोमा बेरिरहूँ।
सधै तिम्रै हुने, मन छ।
यो मनले सधैँलाई, माया गर्दै तिमीलाई।
ढुकढुकी बनाउछु भन्छ। ]…२

तिम्रो साथ छ, मधुमास छ, न्यानो-न्यानो मिठास छ।…२
तिमी छौ र त मेरो, जिन्दगानी खास छ।
[यस्तै माया गरिरहुँ, अँगालोमा बेरिरहूँ।
सधै तिम्रै हुने, मन छ।
यो मनले सधैँलाई, माया गर्दै तिमीलाई।
ढुकढुकी बनाउछु भन्छ। ]…२

जब जब तिम्रो साथ, मिल्दैमिल्दै गयो।
धरोधर्म मेरो जिन्दगी, कायापलट भयो।
[यस्तै माया गरिरहुँ, अँगालोमा बेरिरहूँ।
सधै तिम्रै हुने, मन छ।
यो मनले सधैँलाई, माया गर्दै तिमीलाई।
ढुकढुकी बनाउछु भन्छ। ]…२

Maya Le Boleko – Karkhana

मायाले बोलेको, बोलि मिठो भो।
सुरिलो आवाजको, जादु छुट्टै भो।
जोवनले पिरतीको, कथा लेख्ने भो।
आँखाको गहिराईमा माया।
जुन तारा साँचेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।…२
धर्ती आकाश भाकेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।
जुन तारा साँचेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।

चाहना यस्तै हो कि, माया हो यो मेरो।
बाहना तिमी हौ कि, भावना हो यो मेरो।
यो मनले त्यो मनसँग, माया गाँस्ने भो।
मन भित्र गहिराईमा, माया।
देबिदेउता भाकेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।
जुन तारा साँचेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।

धर्ती आकाश भाकेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।
जुन तारा साँचेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।
मायाले बोलेको, बोलि मिठो भो।
सुरिलो आवाजको, जादु छुट्टै भो।
जोवनले पिरतीको, कथा लेख्ने भो।
आँखाको गहिराईमा माया।
जुन तारा साँचेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।…२
धर्ती आकाश भाकेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।
जुन तारा साँचेर, यो मनै तिम्रो भो।…२

बिहानी फुल हाँस्यो, राती चन्द्रमा।
जन्ती लिई आउनु हजूर, मङ्सिर पन्ध्रमा।

Poem – Mystery

Now I am all
One bowl of kisses,
Such as the tall
Slim votaresses
Of Egypt filled
For a God’s excesses.

I lift to you
My bowl of kisses,
And through the temple’s
Blue recesses
Cry out to you
In wild caresses.

And to my lips’
Bright crimson rim
The passion slips,
And down my slim
White body drips
The shining hymn.

And still before
The altar I
Exult the bowl
Brimful, and cry
To you to stoop
And drink, Most High.

Oh drink me up
That I may be
Within your cup
Like a Mystery,
Like wine that is still
In ecstasy.

Glimmering still
In ecstasy,
Commingled wines
Of you and me
In One fulfill,…
The Mystery.

Poem – A Sane Revolution

If you make a revolution, make it for fun,
don’t make it in ghastly seriousness,
don’t do it in deadly earnest,
do it for fun.

Don’t do it because you hate people,
do it just to spit in their eye.

Don’t do it for the money,
do it and be damned to the money.

Don’t do it for equality,
do it because we’ve got too much equality
and it would be fun to upset the apple-cart
and see which way the apples would go a-rolling.

Don’t do it for the working classes.
Do it so that we can all of us be little aristocracies on our own
and kick our heels like jolly escaped asses.

Don’t do it, anyhow, for international Labour.
Labour is the one thing a man has had too much of.
Let’s abolish labour, let’s have done with labouring!
Work can be fun, and men can enjoy it; then it’s not labour.
Let’s have it so! Let’s make a revolution for fun!

Poem – Dreams

All people dream, but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,
Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.

But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people,
For they dream their dreams with open eyes,
And make them come true.

Poem – A Winter’s Tale

Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow,
And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge;
Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go
On towards the pines at the hills’ white verge.

I cannot see her, since the mist’s white scarf
Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky;
But she’s waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half
Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh.

Why does she come so promptly, when she must know
That she’s only the nearer to the inevitable farewell;
The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow—
Why does she come, when she knows what I have to tell?

नेपाली कथा – कर्णेल सापको कुकुर बौलाएछ

एक दिन कर्णेल जङ्गध्वज राणाको जर्मन शेफर्ड जातको लाइका कुकुर एक्कासी बौलाएछ । नत्र कहिल्यै उत्तेजित नहुने भद्र स्वभावको कुकुर आफ्नै मालिक्नी डल्फिन बेबीलाई बलात्कार गर्न किन जाइलाग्थ्यो र यो सबैका लागि अनौठो लाग्दै कुरा भएन र तर जति आश्चर्य लागे पनि कुरो चाहीं पक्कै हो । यस कुराका साक्षी डल्फिन बेबीका बाबु-आमा खुदै छन् । अझ उसकै भाइ टाइसन राणा र घरका अरु धाई सुसारे नोकर चाकर पनि छन् । एक साँझ ड्यूटीबाट फर्केर घरभित्र पस्तापस्तै आफ्नी किशोरी छोरी डल्फिन बेबीलाई आफ्नै घरको डाँगोले बलात्कार गर्न खोजेको देखेर कर्णेल राणाको आश्चर्य साथै रिसको सीमा रहेन । उनको खान्दानी राणा क्रोध चरम विन्दुमा पुग्यो । के यो डाँगो-लाइका बौलाएछ कर्णेलको हात आफ्नो कम्मरमा छालाको दापमा झुण्डिएको रिभल्बरमा पर्‍यो । उनले यता उति केही नसोची त्यो रिभल्बर झिकेर गोली ठोकिदिए – “ठाइँ ….. ठाइँ ….. ठाइँ ” घरभरि खैला बैला मच्चियो – “लाइका बौलाएछ । कर्सापले त्यसलाई गोली मारिबक्स्यो ।” आफ्नी छोरीलाई बलात्कार गर्न खोज्ने त्यो कुकुरलाई गोली ठोक्नु एउटा खान्दानी फौजीका लागि अस्वाभाविक पनि त थिएन । मालिक मालिक्नी खास गरी डल्फिन बेबीकै अत्यन्त प्यारो लाइका कुकुर ऐया पनि भन्न नपाइ ठहरै भयो !

लाइका – यो जर्मन शेर्फड जातिको सुन्दर कुकुर कर्णेललाई त्यति बेलाको जर्मन राजदूतले दिएको थियो । अझ कर्णेललाई पनि होइन बेबी डल्फिन राणालाई उपहारमा दिएको । त्यतिखेर नेपालमा जर्मन राजदूतावास थिएन भारतकै लागि नियुक्त जर्मन राजदूत दिल्लीमै बसेर नेपालको मामिला पनि हेर्थ्यो । कहिले काहीं त्यस्तै राजकीय समारोह पर्दा मात्र नेपाल आउँथ्यो । एक पल्ट त्यस्तै एउटा समारोहमा ऊ नेपाल निम्त्याइएको थियो र परिवार सहित ऊ आएको थियो । अनि नेपाल बसुञ्जेल उसका लागि आवास प्रवन्ध मिलाउनेमा कर्णेल जङ्गध्वज राणा खटिएका थिए । उनको प्रबन्धबाट राजदूत हाइनरिख डेम्लर र श्रीमती मार्गारेट हेम्लर बडो प्रभावित भएका थिए । उनीहरूको नेपाल बसुञ्जेलको अन्तरालमा निकै राम्रो सम्बन्ध बनेको थियो । श्रीमती हेम्लर उनीहरूलाई बराबर चियापानमा बोलाउने गर्दथिन् । आमाबाबुको साथमा नौ दश वर्षी छोरी बेबी डल्फिन राणा पनि जाने गर्थी । बडा बडा निर्दोष आँखा, गोरो रोगनमा कालो घना कपाल, हिस्सी परेको निश्चल अनुहार ! उसलाई देख्ता डल्फिन माछाको हर्दम हाँसिरहेझैं निश्चल अनुहारको संझना आउँथ्यो । त्यसैले उसको नाउँ नै डल्फिन राखेका थिए ।

एक दिन यस्तै दोस्रो प्रहरको चियापानको निम्तोमा आमाबाबुका साथमा बेबी डल्फिन राणा पनि गएकी थिई । सकिंदो शरद र शुरु हेमन्त ऋतुको प्यारो मौसम ! उनीहरू अतिथिशालाको सुन्दर बगैंचा रत्न बाग (डाइमन गार्डेन_ को हरियो चौरमा बसेका थिए । हेमन्त ऋतुको शुरु दोस्रो प्रहरको न्यानो घामको सुम्सुम्याइको साथमा रमाइला र मीठा मीठा गफ गर्दै चियाको सुर्को सुर्क्याउदै सवैजना आनन्दको अनुभूति संगालिरहेका थिए । “हाम्रो अब दिल्ली फर्कने दिन आयो के गर्नु, नेपालको यस्तो स्वर्गीय आनन्द, तपाईंहरूको यति आत्मीय साथ छोडेर दिल्लीको त्यो उसिन्ने गर्मी खप्न जाने इच्छा त छैन तर के गर्नु – नोकर भए पछि आफ्नो ड्यूटी त गर्नै पर्‍यो ! ” राजदूत हेम्लरले उदास भएर भन्यो । अझ श्रीमती हेम्लरको उदास अनुहारले लोग्नेलाई भन्दा पनि यहाँको यो आनन्द छोडेर जानु उसलाई पटक्कै मन नभएको कुरा बताइरहेको थियो । तर ऊ पनि लाचार थिई । उसले गुनासोको स्वरमा लोग्नेसँग भनी – “तपाईं एउटा जर्मन दूतावास यहीं बनाउनु पर्छ भनेर सरकारसँग किन सिफारिस गर्नुहुन्न ” । “मैले सिफारिस गर्दैमा हुँदोहो त म सरकारसँग मात्रै किन इश्वरसँग ‘मलाई यही देशमा जन्माइदेऊ’ भन्ने थिएँ ।” – राजदूतले केही ठट्यौलो र केही आकांक्षाको स्वरमा भन्यो । त्यसै बेला उनीहरूकी किशोरी छोरी आएन हेम्लर त्यहाँ आई उसले वगलमा एउटा सानो छाउरो बोकेकी थिई । त्यो सानो छाउरो डल्फिन बेबीलाई देख्ने बित्तिकै सुन्दरी एनीको अँगालोबाट फुत्किएर दगुर्दै डल्फिनको काखमा लुटपुटिन आइ पुग्यो । ऊ डल्फिनको काखमा उफ्र‌दै उसको आँखा, नाक, मुख, गर्दन सबैतिर चुम्मा लिन थाल्यो । डल्फिन पनि उसलाई दुबै हातले च्यापेर आफ्नो छातीमा टास्तै उसको गालामा गाला जोर्दै, सबैतिर चुम्न थाली । त्यो दृश्य कस्तो लाग्थ्यो भने यी दुइ मानव पुत्री र श्वान पुत्रको मिलन अहिलेको मात्र होइन, यो त उनीहरूको जन्म जन्मान्तरको आत्मीय सम्बन्ध हो !

यो अत्यन्त संवेदनशील मिलन दृश्य देखेर राजदूत दम्पति पनि मुग्ध भएका थिए । उनीहरू बहुतै संवेद्य भएका थिए । “बुबा ! यो पप्पी कति राम्रो छ हगि , कति माया लाग्दो । कति डार्लिङ्ग ! ……… बुबा हामीलाई पनि एउटा यस्तै पपी ल्याइदिस्योस् न । है बुबा – है, है !” – बेबी डल्फिन छाउरोलाई त्यसै त्यसै आफूमै लीन गराउँला झैं छातीमा टाँसेर बाबूसँग आग्रह गर्न थालेकी थिई, लाडिन थालेकी थिई । त्यो अत्यन्त भावुक क्रीडा गहिरिएर हेरिरहेको राजदूतले एक्कासी सोध्यो – “नानीलाई पप्पी मन पर्छ Û हो < यो तिमीलाई भयो Û तिमी यसलाई धेरै धेरै माया गर्नु ल । ” “होइन होइन महामहीम (योर एक्सेलेन्सी) त्यसो नगरौं ! यो त यसको बच्कानापन हो, बच्चाको क्षणिक सोख रहर …. नयाँ कुरा देख्यो कि त चाहिहाल्ने । अनि त्यो पाएपछि एक दुइ घण्टा बढीमा एकाध दिनमै बिर्सने; त्यत्तिकै फालिदिने । …महामहीमले यस्तो गर्नु पर्दैन ।” कर्णेलले बडो सङ्कोच मानेर भने । तर राजदूतले बडो आग्रहसँग भन्यो – “न, न, मलाई कुनै बोझ छैन कर्णेल , सङ्कोच नमान्नोस् । यो हाम्रो तर्फबाट छोरीलाई मायाको सानो चिनो ।” “एस् कर्णेल, यो बेबीलाई हाम्रो सानो गिफ्ट (उपहार)” श्रीमती मार्गरेट हेम्लरलेपनि अत्यन्त खुशीको स्वरमा लोग्नेको समर्थन गरिन् । यसरी कर्णेल जङ्गध्वज हमालको घरमा जर्मन शेर्फड जातिको त्यो छाउरो – लाइकाको प्रवेश भयो । त्यसको जर्मन नाउँ त के थियो कुन्नि, तर डल्फिन बेबीले चन्द्र लोकको पहिलो यात्रु कुकुर लाइकाको नाउँ दिएर त्यसको इज्जत गरेकी थिई ।

लाइका कर्णेलको घरमा बेबी डल्फिन राणाकै साथमा अत्यन्त पुल्पुलिएर हुर्कदै बढ्दै अब चार वर्षे कुर्कुरे बैंसको गल्लीमा लर्खराउन थालेको थियो । अनि बेबी डल्फिन पनि बाल्यवयको अन्तिम मोडबाट उतापट्टिको किशोर वय प्रवेशको नौलो फूलबारीमा प्रवेश गर्न तर्खराउन थालेकी थिई । यसरी शिशिरको सँघारबाट वसन्तको पहिलो फूलमा हाँस्न खोजेको कोपिला जस्ती मानव किशोरी र उरण्ठ्यौले बैंसले कुतकुतिएको श्वानपुत्र लाइकाको मितेरी भावना अप्ठेरो गोरेटो हुँदै सँगसँगै हिड्न थालेको थियो । लाइका जवानीको पूर्ण नसामा आँखाभरि के के चाहनाको चमक बोकेर संसारलाई हेर्न थालेको थियो । उसका सम्पूर्ण नसाहरूमा तातो रगत दगुर्न थालेको थियो । त्यसैको गर्मीले उसका सबै अङ्गमा फूर्ति र गति भरिदिएको थियो । तर ऊ घरको चोटा-कोठा, छत बरण्डाको चारकिल्ला नाघेर बाहिर स्वतन्त्र हावामा जान पाउँदैनथ्यो । ऊ सम्भ्रान्त घरको उच्च जातको कुकुर, उसलाई परिवारको सम्भ्रान्त परिवेशबाट बाहिर जान दियो भने उसले गल्लीका खिचाहरूसँग मिसिएर आफ्नो जात फाल्ने जोखिम थियो । त्यतिमात्र होइन बाहिरका ढल रछानमा मिल्किएका सडेका कुहिएका गलेका फोहर विष्टाहरूमा थुतुनु गाडेर पूरै गल्ली खिचाको संस्कार, चरित्र बोक्न सक्थ्यो । त्यसैले उसलाई एक्लै घरबाट बाहिर खुलामा घुम्ने अनुमति थिएन । बाहिर ऊ त्यति बेला मात्र जान पाउँथ्यो, जुन बेला कर्साप बाहिर दौडाहा सौडाहा र लामो ड्यूटीमा हुँदैनथे र घरै हुन्थे । उनी आफू घरै भएको बेलामा भने प्रायः साँझ बिहान ताजा हावा खान (इभनिङ्ग वाक मोर्निङ्ग वाकमा) निस्कन्थे । त्यतिखेर उनी लाइकालाई पनि लिएर जान्थे । कित आफू शिकार गएको बेलामा सँगै लान्थे । तर त्यस बेला पनि ऊ स्वतन्त्र विचरण गर्न भने पाउँदैनथ्यो; साङलाले बाँधिएर घिच्चिएको हुन्थ्यो । त्यसैले बैंसको काउकुतीले कुत्कुतिएर स्वतन्त्र घुम्ने उसको चाहना त्यत्तिकै कुण्ठित हुन्थ्यो । अनि ऊ घर भित्रैको कोठा, चोटा, छत, बरण्डाको सीमित घेरा भित्र उद्विग्न भएर कुइ-कुइं गर्दै छत बरण्डाको एक कुनादेखि अर्को कुनासम्म लरखराइरहन्थ्यो । उसको यो रन्थन्याइ डल्फिन बेबी स्कूलबाट घर फर्केपछि मात्र अलि मत्थर हुन्थ्यो । किन भने ऊ बेबीसँग खेल्न पाउँथ्यो ।

हुन त बेबी बाहिर गएको र कर्णेलको लामो अनुपस्थितिको मौका छोपेर कर्णेल्नी मोनिका राणा पनि उससँग मन बहलाउन र उसको न्यास्रो मेटाउन नखोज्ने होइनन्; उसलाई छातीमा टाँसेर आफ्नो मन भरिको माया पोख्न उनको अन्तरकी बालिकाले जुरमुराउन नखोज्ने त कहाँ हो र < तर कहाँकी ताजा गुनकेशरी बेबी कर्णेल अनि कहाँकी उसकी आमा-ओइलाएको पलाँस जस्ती अधबैंसे पोथी । कुकुर भनेर कहाँ हुन्छ र < ताजा र बासी सुँघ्न सक्ने शक्ति त उसमा पनि त हुन्छ । त्यसैले ऊ मोनिका राणाको बासी अँगालोबाट बलैले फुत्किएर परतिर भाग्दथ्यो । र सकेसम्म ऊ उनको नजिकै पर्दैनथ्यो; तर्केर हिंड्थ्यो । अनि न्यास्रिएझैं एउटा कुनामा गएर टाङ्गमुनि मुन्टो घुसारेर पस्रिइरहन्थ्यो । खान पनि मन गर्दैनथ्यो । अनि बेलुकी डल्फिन बेबी घरफर्के पछि मात्र उसको न्यास्रो मेटिन्थ्यो र उसमा फूर्ति भरिन्थ्यो । अनि ऊ डल्फिनको काखमा चढेर खुशी हुँदै उसलाई झँगेल्न थाल्थ्यो । तर हिजो आज बेबी पनि चाँडो घर आउन्नथी । एस्.एल.सि. परीक्षाले उसको ढोका घच्घच्याउन थालिसकेकोले स्कूलपछि ऊ प्रायः साथीहरू कहाँ सह अध्ययन गर्न जान्थी र राती अबेलै फर्कन्थी । घर आएपछि पनि उसलाई लाइकासँग खेल्ने त्यति फुर्सत हुँदैनथ्यो । उसप्रतिको कर्तव्य ऊ फगत उसका बारेमा खै खबर गरेर मात्र पूरा गर्थी – “लाइका डियर ! मुवाँ ! लाइले खायो के खायो मुवाँ । ” बस् । त्यसपछि ऊ आमाको जवाफलाई सम्म पनि नपर्खिएर आफ्नो पढाइमा लाग्थी । उसको यो व्यवहारले लाइकाको मनमा कस्तो भावना उठ्दो हो त्यो मान्छेले बुझन सक्तैनथ्यो ! अनि उसको उद्विग्नता र अशान्ति बढ्दथ्यो र ऊ रातभर कुइं कुइं कुइंकिदै र भुक्तै रिङरिहन्थ्यो । अनि मान्छेले ठान्थ्यो ऊ आफ्नो श्वान (कुकुर) धर्मको पालना गर्दैछ; मालिकको धनमालको रक्षा गर्न घुमी घुमी भुक्तैछ । शरद-हेमन्तको ऋतु शुरु भएपछि त्यो ठूलो घर (महल) भित्र बन्दी तुल्याइएर एकलो परेको लाइका अब धेरजसो सडकपट्टिको बरण्डाको डण्डीबार (रेलिङ्ग वाल) को टाउकामा अगाडिका दुइ खुट्टाले टेकेर करुण आँखाले एक टकले सडक पारिको बङ्गलाको झयालतिर हेरेर उभिइरहन्थ्यो । ऊ त्यहाँ उभिन पुगेपछि त्यो पल्लो घरको झयालमा पनि त्यस घरकी कुकुर्नी आएर उसैलाई मायालु आँखाले हेरेर उभिन्थी । सडक पारिको यो बङ्गलापनि कर्णेलकै हाराहारीको तर बिग्रिएको खान्दानी बाबुसाहेबको थियो । ‘हिङ्ग नभए पनि हिङ्ग बाँधेको टालो त छ ए’ भन्ने उखानलाई चरितार्थ गर्दै बाबुसाहेवले आफ्नो पुर्ख्यौली शोख पालेकै थिए – एउटी बैंसालु बेलाइती कुकुर्नीका रूपमा । लाइका आफ्नो एकलोपनको न्यास्रो मेटाउन (कि आफ्नो अतृप्त वासनालाई मानसिक तृप्ति दिलाउन ) त्यससँग मूक प्रणययाचना गरिरहन्थ्यो । तर उसको यो तृप्ति धेरै बेर रहन पाउन्नथ्यो । एउटी तरुनी आइमाई आएर उसकी प्रेयसी (शायद) लाई तानेर (कहिले कहीं बोकेर पनि) भित्रतिर लान्थी । अनि त लाइकाको विक्षोभ झन अकासिन्थ्यो र ऊ भाउन्नाएझैं टप (छत) र वरण्डामा रिङ्न थाल्थ्यो ।

रिङ्दा रिङ्दै ऊ फेरि रेलिङ्गको अन्तरबाट टाउको छिराएर तल सडकमा हेर्न थाल्थ्यो । त्यो इलाका आवासीय भएकोले सवारीको आऊ जाऊ त्यति साह्रो हुदैनथ्यो, खालि फाट्फुट् सबारी देखिन्थे सडकमा । बरु त्यहाँको सामान्य दृश्य भनेको गति छाडेरै आपसमा लठारिएर हिंडेका एकआध कुकुरे बैंसका ठिटा-ठिटीका जोडी र हेमन्त ऋतुका गल्ली खिचाका जोडी मात्र हुन्थे । यो दृश्यले लाइकाको उत्तेजनामा घिऊ थप्ने काम गर्थ्यो शायद ! उसको भुकाइ पनि आक्रामक हुन्थ्यो र चेष्टा पनि । अगि पछि आइरहने र राम्ररी चिनिएको मानिसलाई पनि ऊ झम्टन पुग्थ्यो । त्यसैले मानिसहरू त्यो घरमा आउँदा निकै होस गरेर मात्र आउँथे । बेबी सँगै प्रायः त्यहाँ आइरहने उसकी घनिष्ठतम संगिनी रेजिनालाई पनि उसले एक दिन एक्कासी झम्टिन पुगेको थियो । अनि रेजिनाले सोधेकी पनि थिई – “तेरो लाइका कतै बौलाउन त लागेन < तैंले उसलाई रेबिजको सुइ त दिइस् ।” “होइन, त्यस्तो त केही छैन ! हिजो आज अलि उत्ताउलिएको छ यो, बढी नै भुक्छ । तर कसैलाई टोकिहालेको चैं छैन ।” – डल्फिनले भनी । अनि दुवै जना पढाइमा हराए । लाइकाको बारे डल्फिनले पनि बिर्सिइ । त्यस दिन अर्थात् जुन दिन त्यो वीभत्स घटना भयो, लाइका सधैं झै छत (टप) को पश्चिमी रेलिङ्गको वालमा टेकेर सडकपट्टिको साबिक झयालमा हेरेर उभिएको थियो । उताको झयालमा पनि उसकी मायालु बसेकी थिई । दुवै प्राणी मूक भाषामा आँखै आँखामा मनका कुरा गरिरहेका थिए शायद । त्यसै बेला त्यस बङ्गलाकी तरुनी (छोरी बुहारी के हो, कि तरुनी नोकर्नी सुसारे हो) आएर कुकुर्नीलाई घिच्याउँदै भित्रतिर लगी । त्यसले लाइकाको उन्मादलाई चरममा पुर्‍याइदिएको थियो । ऊ रौं ठाडा पारेर आँखामा हिंसाको फिलिङ्ग भरेर गुर्राएको थियो – “ङयार्र्रर्र्रर्र ! र्घर्ुररर !” ठीक त्यसै बेला बेबी डल्फिन बाहिरको सिक्रीद्वार खोलेर उसलाई बोलाउँदै भर्‍याङ चढ्न थाली – “लाइका ! लाइका ! लाइका के गर्दै छ मुवाँ – त्यसलाई खान दिस्यो – … के खायो त्यसले <

उसको स्वर सुनेर लाइकाको उन्माद साँच्चै चरममा पुगेको थियो । ऊ विक्षिप्तझैं भर्‍याङतिर झम्टदै गयो । डल्फिन बेबी भर्‍याङको पहिलो घुम्ती घुमेर दोस्रो खण्डको तीन चार सिढी उक्लिइसकेकी थिई । लाइकाले एक्कासी झम्टादिएर उसलाई समेत लिएर खुर्मुरियो । दुवै एकै पल्ट खुर्मुरिदै घुम्तीको विश्राम (प्लेटर्फम) मा डल्फिन मुनि लाइका माथि पर्ने गरी खसे । डल्फिनलाई लाइकाको हेक्कै रहेन । कुनै अज्ञात जनावरले आफूलाई हमला गरेको ठानेर ऊ नराम्ररी चिच्याई – “आमा ! लौन ! लौन ! मार्‍यो आमा ! ” यस पल्ट उ उसको समाजमा प्रयोग गरिने सभ्यताको जडाउरी शब्द ‘मुवाँ’ को सट्टा अज्ञानमै नेपाली भाषाको ‘आमा’ शब्द स्वाभाविक रूपले बोल्न पुगी । उसको त्यो आतसको चित्कार सुनेर उपल्लो समाज (माथ्लो सोसाइटी) को कीटि पार्टीबाट भर्खरै फर्किएर शयन कक्षमा लुगा कपडा र गहना फेर्न थालेकी मोनिका राणा (आमा) आत्तिदै भर्‍याङको टाउकामा पुगिन् – “लौ न, लौ न ए के भो बेबीलाई – बेबी ! किन यसरी चिच्याएकी के भयो लाइकालाई । त्यसै बेला अफिसको ड्यूटीबाट फर्केका करसाप पनि गराजमा आफ्नो मोटर थन्क्याएर आइ पुगेका थिए । भित्र पस्ता पस्तै उनका आँखा भर्‍याङको पहिलो मोडको विश्रान्ति (प्लेटर्फम) मा लडिरहेकी छोरी र उसमाथि चढिरहेको लाइका डाँगोलाई देखेर उनका आँखामा बलात्कारको दृश्य चित्रित भयो । बिना सोच छोरीलाई त्यस कुकुरले बलात्कार गर्न लागेको ठाने उनले । उनको दिमागले अरु कुरा सोच्नै सकेन । एक्कासी उनको खानदानी फौजी क्रोध उम्लि हाल्यो । उनले बगलको दापमा झुण्डिएको फौजी रिभल्वर झिकेर ठोकीहाले – ठ्याईं ठ्याईं ठ्यार्इं । कुकुर ऐया पनि भन्न नपाई ठण्डा भयो । अनि कुकुरको लासले थिचिएकी, आतङ्कले नीली फुस्री भएकी छोरीलाई उठाएर सुम्सुम्याउँदै कम्पित स्वरमा भने – “के भयो छोरी – तिमीलाई सारो चोट त लागेन < किन यसरी बौलायो यो लाइका < यस्तो त कहिल्यै गर्दैनथ्यो किन बौलायो यो < .. ल अब नडराऊ ! त्यो मरिसक्यो ।” उनको फौजी रिभल्वरको तातो तातो गोली खाएर ऐया पनि भन्न नपाई ढलेको त्यो निरीह प्राणीले मर्ने बेलामा अत्यन्त करुण आँखाले उनलाई हेरेको थियो । ती निरीह आँखामा छल्किएको अनन्त पीडाको सम्झनाले उनलाई एक्कासी भावुक तुल्याइदियो । यस बिचराले बाँचुञ्जेल त उनको राम्रै सेवा गरेको थियो; धन मालको र घर परिवारको हेरचाह त गरेकै थियो शिकार जाँदा पनि उनलाई निकै सहयोग गरेको थियो । आज यसरी आफ्नै हातले उसको जीवनको अन्त्य गराएका थिए उनले ।

जीवन भरको निरंकुश फौजी अनुशासनमा अत्यन्त कठोर बनेको उनको छाती पनि अहिले पग्लिएर आँखामा पानी बनेर छल्कन थाल्यो । त्यसले उनको स्वरलाई पनि भिजाइदियो । उनले भक्कान्निएको स्वरमा आफ्नो अर्दलीलाई बोलाएर आदेश गरे – “लौ यसलाई रानीबाग (किङ्गस् गार्डेन_ को पारिजातको रुखमुनि लगेर हिफाजतसाथ गाडिदिनु । यसले प्रयोग गर्ने गरेका सबै सामान थाल (प्लेट), कचौरा (बाउल्स्) हरू पनि यसैका साथमा गाडिदिनु । …. अँ, अनि सुन्, पुरेतलाई डाकेर यसको सद्गत् पनि गरिदिनु । बिचरा छोरोजस्तै गरी पालेको यसलाई आज आफ्नै हातबाट ……. के गर्नु यसले यसै गरी मर्नु लेखेको रहेछ ।” बोल्दा बोल्दै कर्णेलको घाँटी अँठिए जस्तो भएर उनी बोल्न सकेनन्; आँखा पनि बढी नै छल्छलाएर आयो उनको । उनले प्लेटफर्ममा तेर्सिएको लाइकाको लास र त्यसको आसपासमा फैलिएर सुक्तै गएको कालो रगतलाई हेर्नै सकेन, हतार हतार सिढी चढ्दै आफ्नो कोठातिर लागे ।

Nepali Katha – Ratyauli

गगनेको विवाह हुने भयो नि । एकाबिहानै पँधेरामा भुन्टीले कान्छीको कानैमा गएर खुसुक्क भनी । ए हो र कहिले कहाँ मलाई त पत्तै थिएन त । कान्छीले पनि उत्सुकतापूर्वक सोधनी गरी । यही चौविस गते हो रे कहाँ हो त्यो त मलाई पनि थाहा छैन । तर जे होस् बिहे त गर्ने नै भएछन् । प्रतिउत्तरमा भुन्टीले भनी । यत्तिकैमा रमा पनि गाग्री लिएर पानी भर्न टुप्लुक्क आइपुगी । खासखुस गरिरहेका भुन्टी र कान्छी हठात् चूप भए । चूप लाग्नुको कारण रमा गगनेकी भाउजु थिई । कुरो झिकेर रमाबाट सबै गुह्य कुरा दुहुने मनसायले होला सायद कान्छी प्याच्च बोली । रत्यौली त मज्जासँग खेल्न पाइने भो यसपाला । यो गाउँको यसवर्षको पहिलो बिहे । कसको रत्यौली नै आच्या । अनभिज्ञता प्रकट गर्दै रमाले भनी । हेर न त्यहाँ स्वाङ पारेकी । बडो हामीलाई लुकाउन खोज्ने हो र कि खुसुक्कै दुलही भित्र्याउने सुर छ कि क्या हो रमा देवरको । यतिाजेल चुप भएकी भुन्टी कुरोको चुरो फेला पर्न थालेपछि खूब टाँठी भई । रमा आश्चर्यमा परी । पर्नु पनि स्वाभाविकै थियो । हिजो बेलुका मात्र केटीको घरबाट टीकाटाला गरेर फर्किएका हुन् उसका देवर र लोग्ने । उनीहरु केटी माग्न गएको पनि कसैलाई पत्तै थिएन । बिहेको कुरो न हो भुसको आगोझैं फैलन्छ । हुन त एकदिन थाहा हुनुपर्ने कुरो हो तर पनि थोरै वास्तविकतामा धेरै अस्वाभाविक कुराहरु थपेर कानकान फुक्दै हिँड्छन् मान्छेहरु । हो हो हिजो बेलुका मात्र बिहे आँटेर आए चौबिस गतेलाई । कसले भन्याहोला यिनीहरुलाई । घरमा थाहा नहुँदै गाउँलेलाई पत्तो । यस्तो पनि हुने । रमालाई वास्तविक कुरो खोल्न करै लाग्यो । त्यसबेलासम्म पँधेरामा सात, आठजना आइमाइहरु जम्मा भइसकेका थिए । रमाको कुरो सुनेर सबै हाँसे । आआफ्ना गाग्री भरेर सबै घरतिर लागे ।

गाउँघरका महिलाहरुलाई त्यति फुस्रद हुँदैन । बिहान उठेदेखि बेलुकी सुत्नेबेलासम्म उनीहरु काममै व्यस्त हुन्छन् । खेतीपाती गोठधन्दा आदि गाउँलेहरुका जिउने साधनहरु हुन् । हाम्रो समाजमा व्यवस्था जति परिवर्तन हुन्छ तर अवस्था भने जहाँको तहीं रहन्छ । पुरुषको तुलनामा महिलाहरु नै काममा बढी जोतिन्छन् । उनीहरुलाई न कसैसँग बोल्ने फुस्रद हुन्छ न त कसैसँग भेटघाट गर्न नै । त्यसैले त महिलाहरुको महत्वपूर्ण कुराहरु गर्ने ठाउँ नै बनेको हुन्छ पँधेरो । एकाबिहानै पँधेरामा महिलाहरुको जमघट हुन्छ । किनभने घरको कामधन्दाको सुरुवात नै उनीहरुबाट हुनेगर्छ । त्यसैले त आज गगनेको बिवाहको कुरो त्यही पँधेराबाट चारदिशा फैलियो । बिबाह हुने नै भयो गगनेको । धुमधामसँगै हुने भयो । बाजा बजाएरै हुने भयो । जन्त जान पाइने भो भनेर गाउँका लोग्नेमान्छेहरु हौसिएका छन् रत्यौली खेल्न पाइने भो भनेर आइमाइहरुका खुट्टा भुईंमै छैनन् । सबैसँग हाँसी बोल्ने गगने । कसैसँग कलह र झगडा नगर्ने गगने । आपत परेका बेला अरुलाई मद्दत गर्न तम्सने गगने । इमान्दार गगने । सोझो लपनछपन नजानेको गगने । सबैको प्यारो गगने आँखामा राखे पनि नबिझाउने स्वभाव । त्यसैले त उसको बिहेले यति छिटै चर्चा पायो । उसको बिहेले गावैं उचालेको छ । ए ! यता सुन् त बिहे त रातीकै रहेछ नि । उही पँधेरामा उही एकाबिहानै गौंथलीले सुन्तलीलाई भनी । केटीको गाउँ अलि टाढा भएर रातमा गर्ने भएका हुन् रे क्या । दिनमा नभ्याउने भएर । सुन्तलीले आफुले सुनेको कुरालाई ओकेली । अझ थप्दै गई । यसपालाको रत्यौली त बल्ल रत्यौली जस्तो हुने भो । रातमा कसैले पनि देख्दैन म त लुठो भएर नाच्ने हो ।

ऊ कुत्कुतिएको देखेर त्यहाँ भएका अरु पनि गलल हाँसे । यस्तै पँधेरीबैठक हुँदाहुँदै बिहेको दिन पनि आयो । जीवनको त्यो महत्वपूर्ण घडीमा गगने पनि मख्ख छ । उसको घरमा बिहेको धूमधाम तयार छ । इष्टमित्र पाहुनापाछा सबै आइसकेका छन् । बिहेको दिन गगने सुटपाइन्ट र टाइमा चिटिक्क सजियो । टाउकाको ढाका टोपी र खुट्टाका टल्कने छालाका जुत्ताले उसलाई झन् लोभलाग्दो बनाइदिए । गाउँका बूढापाका तन्नेरीहरुदेखि लिएर दशपन्ध्र वर्षसम्मका अल्लारे केटाहरु जन्त हिँडे । साना भुन्टाहरुलाई ुबाटो लामो छ ु भनेर प्रतिबन्ध गरियो । त्यसमा पनि रातको बिहे साना केटाकेटीहरुको जिम्मा पनि कसले लिने उता हिँड्नका लागि लौरीको भर लिनेहरु जान सक्ने कुरै भएन । आखिर पाचेबाजा र जन्तीहरुको बीचमा रहेर गगने दुलही लिन घरबाट प्रस्थान गर् यो । यता आइमाइहरु बल्ल फुक्का भए । जन्ती घरबाट अलि पर के पुगेका थिए आँगनमा जमघट शुरु हुन थाल्यो । बाबै नि ! एकछिनमा त आँगन खचाखच भयो । मादलको तालमा आइमाइहरु रत्यौली सुरु गर्न थाले । जति जति रात छिप्पिन थाल्यो आइमाइहरुको रत्यौलीको रौनक पनि त्यति नै चरम सीमामा पुग्न थाल्यो । आमै नि ! लाजशरम सबै माटामुनि गाडेर उन्मत्त हुन थाले आइमाइहरु । त्यो उनीहरुको पनि दोष थिएन । किनकि उनीहरु सँधैं स्वतन्त्र छैनन् । आफ्ना इच्छा र चाहनाहरु सामाजिक संस्कारभित्र थुनिएर रहेका छन् । पशुलाई त बाँधेर राखिराख्दा अनि कुनैबेला फुकाउँदा त्यसलाई थाम्न गाह्रो हुन्छ । उनीहरु त मानिसहरु हुन् । समाजले र परिवारले उनीहरुलाई बाँधेर राखिराखेको फल हो त्यो । जे होस् रत्यौलीको माध्यमबाट आफ्ना भावहरु उनीहरु पोखिरहेका छन् ।

कान्छी भुन्टी सुन्तली गौंथली देखि गाउँका सबै सासुबुहारी चेलीबेटी लगायत घरैका सासुबुहारी रत्यौलीमा खूब मात्तिन थाले । चकमन्न रातको त्यो समयमा डरत्रास केही थिएन । केही आइमाइहरु आफ्ना पतिदेवका दौरासुरुवाल कमिज इष्टकोट जे मिल्छन् त्यही पहिरिएर लुठो बनेर लोग्नेमान्छेको नक्कल गरिरहेका छन् । बसेका आइमाइहरुलाई एकएक उठाएर आफ्नो जोडी बनाएर नचाउँदै गरेका छन् । लाजसरम पचिसकेको छ । आफ्ना श्रीमानसँग हुने कि्रयाकलापहरुको नक्कली प्रदर्शन भइ नै रहेका छन् । रमा आफ्नो पतिको सर्ट पाइन्टमा लुठो बनेर नाचिरहेकी थिइ । ऊ सुन्दर थिई । बाटुलो अनुहार बदामरुपी आँखा सुडोल शरीर गहुँगोरी कालो र लामो केश चिटिक्कै परेकी । पतिदेवका कपडा निकै सुहाएको थियो उसलाई । त्यत्तिकैमा एउटी आइमाइले उसलाई पाखुरामा च्याप्प समाती अनि उसको गालामा च्वाप्प म्वाइ खाइ । रमा पनि के कम थिई र ऊ त झन् पुरुष बनेकी थिई मर्दको संज्ञा पाएको पुरुष । त्यस आइमाइको गालैमा टोकिदिई । आइमाइ झन् उत्तेजित भई । रमालाई तानेर पिँढीतिर उकाली । आँगनका लुठा र आइमाइहरु आगनमै रौसिइरहे । मानौं अन्धकार रातले सबैलाई निलिरह्यो । यता आइमाइले रमालाई जाँतो भएको कुनामा पुर् याई । दुबै मात्तिएका थिए । आइमाइ तल परी रमा माथि । एकैछिनमा रमा तल आइमाइ माथि अनि त्यसपछि । रमा त्यसबेला मात्र झसङ्ग भई । जुनबेला उसले वास्तविक रुपमै पुरुषको संसर्गको अनुभव गरी । ऊ खग्रास भई । झटपट उठेर हेरी आइमाइ त्यहाँ थिइन । हँ के भयो यस्तो को हो त्यो आइमाइरुपी पुरुष रमा खूब आत्तिई । बल्ल ऊ पूर्ण रुपमा सचेत भई । तर के गर्नु रत्यौलीले उसको नारी अस्तित्वलाई लुटिसकेको थियो ।

In The Virgins – Derek Walcott

You can’t put in the ground swell of the organ
from the Christiansted, St.Croix, Anglican Church
behind the paratrooper’s voice: ‘Turned cop
after Vietnam. I made thirty jumps.’
Bells punish the dead street and pigeons lurch
from the stone belfry, opening their chutes,
circling until the rings of ringing stop.
‘Salud!’ The paratrooper’s glass is raised.
The congregation rises to its feet
like a patrol, with scuffling shoes and boots,
repeating orders as the organ thumps:
‘Praise Ye the Lord. The Lord’s name be praised.’

You cannot hear, beyond the quiet harbor,
the breakers cannonading on the bruised
horizon, or the charter engines gunning for
Buck Island. The only war here is a war
of silence between blue sky and sea,
and just one voice, the marching choir’s, is raised
to draft new conscripts with the ancient cry
of ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers,’ into pews
half-empty still, or like a glass, half-full.
Pinning itself to a cornice, a gull
hangs like a medal from the serge-blue sky.

Are these boats all? Is the blue water all?
The rocks surpliced with lace where they are moored,
dinghy, catamaran, and racing yawl,
nodding to the ground swell of ‘Praise the Lord’?
Wesley and Watts, their evangelical light
lanced down the mine shafts to our chapel pew,
its beam gritted with motes of anthracite
that drifted on us in our chapel benches:
from God’s slow-grinding mills in Lancashire,
ash on the dead mired in Flanders’ trenches,
as a gray drizzle now defiles the view

of this blue harbor, framed in windows where
two yellow palm fronds, jerked by the wind’s rain,
agree like horses’ necks, and nodding bear,
slow as a hearse, a haze of tasseled rain,
and, as the weather changes in a child,
the paradisal day outside grows dark,
the yachts flutter like moths in a gray jar,
the martial voices fade in thunder, while
across the harbor, like a timid lure,
a rainbow casts its seven-colored arc.

Tonight, now Sunday has been put to rest.
Altar lights ride the black glass where the yachts
stiffly repeat themselves and phosphoresce
with every ripple – the wide parking-lots
of tidal affluence – and every mast
sways the night’s dial as its needle veers
to find the station which is truly peace.
Like neon lasers shot across the bars
discos blast out the music of the spheres,
and, one by one, science infects the stars.

Love After Love – Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Poem – Suicide Is Bravery

Imagine standing at the edge
No more reasons of anything in life to pledge
Looking down as the wind bleeds your eyes dry
When you fall you have seconds to say goodbye to the sky
Adrenaline causes the mind an instant rush
Anticipating freedom until you become crushed

Now a coward alive would say this man was weak
Yet this man in life couldn’t imagine thinking deep
Instead of jumping for problems, you take a jump for power
I’ll live more in 10 seconds than you do in a million hours
So as your standing at the edge giving life your last salute
Remember your brave, realize most wouldn’t jump even with a parachute
Most would run as they saw death screaming 1000 feet down
A brave man would dig is own corpse into the ground

So as you read about another suicide statistic being
He did it because of strength, something your not seeing
When life screeches to an end and you want to be saved
This ‘coward’ was brave, this soul was brave

The Suicide – Louis Macneice

And this, ladies and gentlemen, whom I am not in fact
Conducting, was his office all those minutes ago,
This man you never heard of. These are the bills
In the intray, the ash in the ashtray, the grey memoranda stacked
Against him, the serried ranks of the box-files, the packed
Jury of his unanswered correspondence
Nodding under the paperweight in the breeze
From the window by which he left; and here is the cracked
Receiver that never got mended and here is the jotter
With his last doodle which might be his own digestive tract
Ulcer and all or might be the flowery maze
Through which he had wandered deliciously till he stumbled
Suddenly finally conscious of all he lacked
On a manhole under the hollyhocks. The pencil
Point had obviously broken, yet, when he left this room
By catdrop sleight-of-foot or simple vanishing act,
To those who knew him for all that mess in the street
This man with the shy smile has left behind
Something that was intact.

Suicide In The Trenches – Siegfried Sassoon

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Poem – The Pauper Witch of Grafton

NOW that they’ve got it settled whose I be,
I’m going to tell them something they won’t like:
They’ve got it settled wrong, and I can prove it.
Flattered I must be to have two towns fighting
To make a present of me to each other.
They don’t dispose me, either one of them,
To spare them any trouble. Double trouble’s
Always the witch’s motto anyway.
I’ll double theirs for both of them- you watch me.
They’ll find they’ve got the whole thing to do over,
That is, if facts is what they want to go by.
They set a lot (now don’t they?) by a record
Of Arthur Amy’s having once been up
For Hog Reeve in March Meeting here in Warren.
I could have told them any time this twelvemonth
The Arthur Amy I was married to
Couldn’t have been the one they say was up
In Warren at March Meeting for the reason
He wa’n’t but fifteen at the time they say.
The Arthur Amy I was married to
voted the only times he ever voted,
Which wasn’t many, in the town of Wentworth.
One of the times was when ’twas in the warrant
To see if the town wanted to take over
The tote road to our clearing where we lived.
I’ll tell you who’d remember- Heman Lapish.
Their Arthur Amy was the father of mine.
So now they’ve dragged it through the law courts once
I guess they’d better drag it through again.
Wentworth and Warren’s both good towns to live in,
Only I happen to prefer to live
In Wentworth from now on; and when all’s said,
Right’s right, and the temptation to do right
When I can hurt someone by doing it
Has always been too much for me, it has.
I know of some folks that’d be set up
At having in their town a noted witch:
But most would have to think of the expense
That even I would be. They ought to know
That as a witch I’d often milk a bat
And that’d be enough to last for days.
It’d make my position stronger, I think,
If I was to consent to give some sign
To make it surer that I was a witch?
It wa’n’t no sign, I s’pose, when Mallice Huse
Said that I took him out in his old age
And rode all over everything on him
Until I’d had him worn to skin and bones,
And if I’d left him hitched unblanketed
In front of one Town Hall, I’d left him hitched
In front of every one in Grafton County.
Some cried shame on me not to blanket him,
The poor old man. It would have been all right
If some one hadn’t said to gnaw the posts
He stood beside and leave his trade mark on them,
So they could recognize them. Not a post
That they could hear tell of was scarified.
They made him keep on gnawing till he whined.
Then that same smarty someone said to look-
He’d bet Huse was a cribber and had gnawed
The crib he slept in- and as sure’s you’re born
They found he’d gnawed the four posts of his bed,
All four of them to splinters. What did that prove?
Not that he hadn’t gnawed the hitching posts
He said he had besides. Because a horse
Gnaws in the stable ain’t no proof to me
He don’t gnaw trees and posts and fences too.
But everybody took it for proof.
I was a strapping girl of twenty then.
The smarty someone who spoiled everything
Was Arthur Amy. You know who he was.
That was the way he started courting me.
He never said much after we were married,
But I mistrusted he was none too proud
Of having interfered in the Huse business.
I guess he found he got more out of me
By having me a witch. Or something happened
To turn him round. He got to saying things
To undo what he’d done and make it right,
Like, ‘No, she ain’t come back from kiting yet.
Last night was one of her nights out. She’s kiting.
She thinks when the wind makes a night of it
She might as well herself.’ But he liked best
To let on he was plagued to death with me:
If anyone had seen me coming home
Over the ridgepole, ‘stride of a broomstick,
As often as he had in the tail of the night,
He guessed they’d know what he had to put up with.
Well, I showed Arthur Amy signs enough
Off from the house as far as we could keep
And from barn smells you can’t wash out of ploughed ground
With all the rain and snow of seven years;
And I don’t mean just skulls of Roger’s Rangers
On Moosilauke, but woman signs to man,
Only bewitched so I would last him longer.
Up where the trees grow short, the mosses tall,
I made him gather me wet snow berries
On slippery rocks beside a waterfall.
I made him do it for me in the dark.
And he liked everything I made him do.
I hope if he is where he sees me now
He’s so far off he can’t see what I’ve come to.
You can come down from everything to nothing.
All is, if I’d a-known when I was young
And full of it, that this would be the end,
It doesn’t seem as if I’d had the courage
To make so free and kick up in folks’ faces.
I might have, but it doesn’t seem as if.

Poem – The Line Gang

Here come the line-gang pioneering by,
They throw a forest down less cut than broken.
They plant dead trees for living, and the dead
They string together with a living thread.
They string an instrument against the sky
Wherein words whether beaten out or spoken
Will run as hushed as when they were a thought
But in no hush they string it: they go past
With shouts afar to pull the cable taught,
To hold it hard until they make it fast,
To ease away — they have it. With a laugh,
An oath of towns that set the wild at naught
They bring the telephone and telegraph.

Poem – The Objection To Being Stepped On

At the end of the row
I stepped on the toe
Of an unemployed hoe.
It rose in offense
And struck me a blow
In the seat of my sense.
It wasn’t to blame
But I called it a name.
And I must say it dealt
Me a blow that I felt
Like a malice prepense.
You may call me a fool,
But was there a rule
The weapon should be
Turned into a tool?
And what do we see?
The first tool I step on
Turned into a weapon.

Poem – Sitting by a Bush in Broad Sunlight

When I spread out my hand here today,
I catch no more than a ray
To feel of between thumb and fingers;
No lasting effect of it lingers.

There was one time and only the one
When dust really took in the sun;
And from that one intake of fire
All creatures still warmly suspire.

And if men have watched a long time
And never seen sun-smitten slime
Again come to life and crawl off,
We not be too ready to scoff.

God once declared he was true
And then took the veil and withdrew,
And remember how final a hush
Then descended of old on the bush.

God once spoke to people by name.
The sun once imparted its flame.
One impulse persists as our breath;
The other persists as our faith.

Poem – Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter

The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.

In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
Was singing in it sweet and swift.

No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.

From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only adding frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn’t show.

A brush had left a crooked stroke
Of what was either cloud or smoke
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.

Poem – The Demiurge’s Laugh

It was far in the sameness of the wood;
I was running with joy on the Demon’s trail,
Though I knew what I hunted was no true god.
It was just as the light was beginning to fail
That I suddenly heard—all I needed to hear:
It has lasted me many and many a year.

The sound was behind me instead of before,
A sleepy sound, but mocking half,
As of one who utterly couldn’t care.
The Demon arose from his wallow to laugh,
Brushing the dirt from his eye as he went;
And well I knew what the Demon meant.

I shall not forget how his laugh rang out.
I felt as a fool to have been so caught,
And checked my steps to make pretence
It was something among the leaves I sought
(Though doubtful whether he stayed to see).
Thereafter I sat me against a tree.

Poem – In Hardwood Groves

The same leaves over and over again!
They fall from giving shade above
To make one texture of faded brown
And fit the earth like a leather glove.

Before the leaves can mount again
To fill the trees with another shade,
They must go down past things coming up.
They must go down into the dark decayed.

They must be pierced by flowers and put
Beneath the feet of dancing flowers.
However it is in some other world
I know that this is way in ours.

Poem – Once By The Pacific

The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God’s last Put out the light was spoken.

Poem – Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbours? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”

Poem – October

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if the were all,
Whose elaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the all.

Poem – On The Number Three

Beauty rests not in one fix’d Place,
But seems to reign in every Face;
‘Tis nothing sure, but Fancy then,
In various Forms bewitching Men;
Or is it Shape and Colour fram’d,
Proportion just, and woman nam’d?
If Fancy only rul’d in Love,
Why shou’d it then so strongly move?
Or why shou’d all that Look, agree
To own its mighty Pow’r in three?
In Three it shews a different Face,
Each shining with peculiar Grace;
Kindred a Native Likeness gives,
Which pleases, as in All it lives;
And where the Features disagree,
We praise the dear Variety.
Then Beauty surely ne’er was yet,
So much unlike it self and so complete.

Poem – 51 Psalm

Look mercyfully down O Lord
& wash us from our sinn
Cleanse us from wicked deeds without
from wicked thoughts within
Lord I Confess my many sinns
that I against thee doe
Each minute they’re before my face
& wound my soul anew
So Great my god my ills have been
Gainst thee & onely thee
Thy Justice tho’ I were Condemnd
would good & righteous bee
For att my birth I wickedness
Did with my breath suck in
But thou shalt teach me in thy ways
& keep me pure from sinn
Thoult me with hyssopp purge who am
all over soil’s & stain’s
Thou with thy sanctifiyng grace
shalt wash & make me clean
Thoult bless my days with peace no sound
But Joy shall reach mine ear
That where thy Justice wounded Lord
There Gladness may appear
Blott from thy thoughts past faults & from
The present turn thy face
O make my spirit right & good
Confirm my heart with grace
thy Presence & thy mercy lett
Me ever Ld possess
Me with the comfort of thy help
& with thy love still bless
Then shall the wicked know thy pow’r
& turn ym from theyr wayes
Deliver me from blood my god
& I will sing thy praise.
Unseal my lips & to ye Bad
I will thy mercy shew
For since thou lovest not sacrifice
Tis all that I can doo
A heart that is with sorrow pierct
My God thou wilt receive
this is ye sweetest offering
that we to thee can give
On Sion Graciously look down
Preserve us still we pray
& hearts upon thine altars Lord
Instead of beasts we’el Lay.

Poem – On Content

Grant heav’n that I may chuse my bliss
If you design me worldly Happiness
Tis not Honour thats but air
Glory has but fancied light
Fame as oft speak’s false as right
Riches have wings & ever dwell with care
Give me an undistemperd mind
As ye third region undisturbd by wind
Content from passions ever free
to rule ones selfs indeed a monarchy
this I request of thee

Tho all we see are fortunes apes
& change as oft as she their shapes
Tho my kinder fortune leave me
Tho my dearest friends deceive me
I in this universall tide
firm on heav’ns mercy would abide
& ‘mongst ye giddy waves securely ride
Tho they should die
Who never did my love abuse
Perhaps in tears I would my passion vent
But straight again I’de be content
Remembring ’twas th’ almighty’s deed tho I
should my best relations loose
Ide sighing cry Heav’ns will be done
It did but lend them now it has its own.
Fortune should never be
Adored as a deity by me
She onely makes them fooles who make her great
But still content on earth intent on heav’n I’de be
an equall temper keep in ev’ry state
nor Care nor fear my destiny
Death when most dreadfull should not fright
Wn ere he comes Ide patiently submitt
Content thus in my soul should build its halcyons nest
As did thy spirit on ye waters rest
& keep an everlasting calm with in my breast.

Poem – Health, An Eclogue

Now early Shepherds o’er the Meadow pass,
And print long Foot-steps in the glittering Grass;
The Cows neglectful of their Pasture stand,
By turns obsequious to the Milker’s Hand.

When Damon softly trod the shaven Lawn,
Damon a Youth from City Cares withdrawn;
Long was the pleasing Walk he wander’d thro’,
A cover’d Arbour clos’d the distant view;
There rests the Youth, and while the feather’d Throng
Raise their wild Musick, thus contrives a Song.

Here wafted o’er by mild Etesian Air,
Thou Country Goddess, beauteous Health! repair;
Here let my Breast thro’ quiv’ring Trees inhale
Thy rosy Blessings with the Morning Gale.
What are the Fields, or Flow’rs, or all I see?
Ah! tastless all, if not enjoy’d with thee.

Joy to my Soul! I feel the Goddess nigh,
The Face of Nature cheers as well as I;
O’er the flat Green refreshing Breezes run,
The smiling Dazies blow beneath the Sun,
The Brooks run purling down with silver Waves,
The planted Lanes rejoice with dancing Leaves,
The chirping Birds from all the Compass rove
To tempt the tuneful Echoes of the Grove:
High sunny Summits, deeply shaded Dales,
Thick Mossy Banks, and flow’ry winding Vales,
With various Prospect gratify the Sight,
And scatter fix’d Attention in Delight.

Come, Country Goddess, come, nor thou suffice,
But bring thy Mountain-Sister, Exercise.
Call’d by thy lively Voice, she turns her Pace,
Her winding Horn proclaims the finish’d Chace;
She mounts the Rocks, she skims the level Plain,
Dogs, Hawks, and Horses, crowd her early Train;
Her hardy Face repels the tanning Wind,
And Lines and Meshes loosely float behind.
All these as Means of Toil the Feeble see,
But these are helps to Pleasure join’d with thee.

Let Sloth lye softning ’till high Noon in Down,
Or lolling fan her in the sult’ry Town,
Unnerv’d with Rest; and turn her own Disease,
Or foster others in luxurious Ease:
I mount the Courser, call the deep mouth’d Hounds,
The Fox unkennell’d flies to covert Grounds;
I lead where Stags thro’ tangled Thickets tread,
And shake the Saplings with their branching Head;
I make the Faulcons wing their airy Way,
And soar to seize, or stooping strike their Prey;
To snare the Fish I fix the luring Bait;
To wound the Fowl I load the Gun with Fate.
‘Tis thus thro’ change of Exercise I range,
And Strength and Pleasure rise from ev’ry Change.
Here beautious Health for all the Year remain,
When the next comes, I’ll charm thee thus again.

Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural Song,
And bring thy Daughter, calm Content, along,
Dame of the ruddy Cheek and laughing Eye,
From whose bright Presence Clouds of Sorrow fly:
For her I mow my Walks, I platt my Bow’rs,
Clip my low Hedges, and support my Flow’rs;
To welcome her, this Summer Seat I drest,
And here I court her when she comes to Rest;
When she from Exercise to learned Ease
Shall change again, and teach the Change to please.

Now Friends conversing my soft Hours refine,
And Tully’s Tusculum revives in mine:
Now to grave Books I bid the Mind retreat,
And such as make me rather Good than Great.
Or o’er the Works of easy Fancy rove,
Where Flutes and Innocence amuse the Grove:
The native Bard that on Sicilian Plains
First sung the lowly Manners of the Swains;
Or Maro’s Muse, that in the fairest Light
Paints rural Prospects and the Charms of Sight;
These soft Amusements bring Content along,
And Fancy, void of Sorrow, turns to Song.
Here beauteous Health for all the Year remain,
When the next comes, I’ll charm thee thus again.

Summit And Gravity – Octavio Paz

There’s a motionless tree
And another one coming forward
A river of trees
Hits my chest
The green surge
Is good fortune
You are dressed in red
You are
The seal of the scorched year
The carnal firebrand
The star fruit
In you like sun
The hour rests
Above an abyss of clarities
The height is clouded by birds
Their beaks construct the night
Their wings carry the day
Planted in the crest of light
Between firmness and vertigo
You are
Transparent balance

No More Clichés – Octavio Paz

Beautiful face
That like a daisy opens its petals to the sun
So do you
Open your face to me as I turn the page.

Enchanting smile
Any man would be under your spell,
Oh, beauty of a magazine.

How many poems have been written to you?
How many Dantes have written to you, Beatrice?
To your obsessive illusion
To you manufacture fantasy.

But today I won’t make one more Cliché
And write this poem to you.
No, no more clichés.

This poem is dedicated to those women
Whose beauty is in their charm,
In their intelligence,
In their character,
Not on their fabricated looks.

This poem is to you women,
That like a Shahrazade wake up
Everyday with a new story to tell,
A story that sings for change
That hopes for battles:
Battles for the love of the united flesh
Battles for passions aroused by a new day
Battle for the neglected rights
Or just battles to survive one more night.

Yes, to you women in a world of pain
To you, bright star in this ever-spending universe
To you, fighter of a thousand-and-one fights
To you, friend of my heart.

From now on, my head won’t look down to a magazine
Rather, it will contemplate the night
And its bright stars,
And so, no more clichés.

Last Dawn – Octavio Paz

Your hair is lost in the forest,
your feet touching mine.
Asleep you are bigger than the night,
but your dream fits within this room.
How much we are who are so little!
Outside a taxi passes
with its load of ghosts.
The river that runs by
is always
running back.
Will tomorrow be another day?

Poem – Jerusalem Delivered – Book 01 – Part 02

Thus when the Lord discovered had, and seen
The hidden secrets of each worthy’s breast,
Out of the hierarchies of angels sheen
The gentle Gabriel called he from the rest,
‘Twixt God and souls of men that righteous been
Ambassador is he, forever blest,
The just commands of Heaven’s Eternal King,
‘Twixt skies and earth, he up and down doth bring.

To whom the Lord thus spake: “Godfredo find,
And in my name ask him, why doth he rest?
Why be his arms to ease and peace resigned?
Why frees he not Jerusalem distrest?
His peers to counsel call, each baser mind
Let him stir up; for, chieftain of the rest
I choose him here, the earth shall him allow,
His fellows late shall be his subjects now.”

This said, the angel swift himself prepared
To execute the charge imposed aright,
In form of airy members fair imbared,
His spirits pure were subject to our sight,
Like to a man in show and shape he fared,
But full of heavenly majesty and might,
A stripling seemed he thrive five winters old,
And radiant beams adorned his locks of gold.

Of silver wings he took a shining pair,
Fringed with gold, unwearied, nimble, swift;
With these he parts the winds, the clouds, the air,
And over seas and earth himself doth lift,
Thus clad he cut the spheres and circles fair,
And the pure skies with sacred feathers clift;
On Libanon at first his foot he set,
And shook his wings with rory May dews wet.

Then to Tortosa’s confines swiftly sped
The sacred messenger, with headlong flight;
Above the eastern wave appeared red
The rising sun, yet scantly half in sight;
Godfrey e’en then his morn-devotions said,
As was his custom, when with Titan bright
Appeared the angel in his shape divine,
Whose glory far obscured Phoebus’ shine.

“Godfrey,” quoth he, “behold the season fit
To war, for which thou waited hast so long,
Now serves the time, if thou o’erslip not it,
To free Jerusalem from thrall and wrong:
Thou with thy Lords in council quickly sit;
Comfort the feeble, and confirm the strong,
The Lord of Hosts their general doth make thee,
And for their chieftain they shall gladly take thee.

“I, messenger from everlasting Jove,
In his great name thus his behests do tell;
Oh, what sure hope of conquest ought thee move,
What zeal, what love should in thy bosom dwell!”
This said, he vanished to those seats above,
In height and clearness which the rest excel,
Down fell the Duke, his joints dissolved asunder,
Blind with the light, and strucken dead with wonder.

But when recovered, he considered more,
The man, his manner, and his message said;
If erst he wished, now he longed sore
To end that war, whereof he Lord was made;
Nor swelled his breast with uncouth pride therefore,
That Heaven on him above this charge had laid,
But, for his great Creator would the same,
His will increased: so fire augmenteth flame.

The captains called forthwith from every tent,
Unto the rendezvous he them invites;
Letter on letter, post on post he sent,
Entreatance fair with counsel he unites,
All, what a noble courage could augment,
The sleeping spark of valor what incites,
He used, that all their thoughts to honor raised,
Some praised, some paid, some counselled, all pleased.

The captains, soldiers, all, save Boemond, came,
And pitched their tents, some in the fields without,
Some of green boughs their slender cabins frame,
Some lodged were Tortosa’s streets about,
Of all the host the chief of worth and name
Assembled been, a senate grave and stout;
Then Godfrey, after silence kept a space,
Lift up his voice, and spake with princely grace:

“Warriors, whom God himself elected hath
His worship true in Sion to restore,
And still preserved from danger, harm and scath,
By many a sea and many an unknown shore,
You have subjected lately to his faith
Some provinces rebellious long before:
And after conquests great, have in the same
Erected trophies to his cross and name.

“But not for this our homes we first forsook,
And from our native soil have marched so far:
Nor us to dangerous seas have we betook,
Exposed to hazard of so far sought war,
Of glory vain to gain an idle smook,
And lands possess that wild and barbarous are:
That for our conquests were too mean a prey,
To shed our bloods, to work our souls’ decay.

“But this the scope was of our former thought, —
Of Sion’s fort to scale the noble wall,
The Christian folk from bondage to have brought,
Wherein, alas, they long have lived thrall,
In Palestine an empire to have wrought,
Where godliness might reign perpetual,
And none be left, that pilgrims might denay
To see Christ’s tomb, and promised vows to pay.

“What to this hour successively is done
Was full of peril, to our honor small,
Naught to our first designment, if we shun
The purposed end, or here lie fixed all.
What boots it us there wares to have begun,
Or Europe raised to make proud Asia thrall,
If our beginnings have this ending known,
Not kingdoms raised, but armies overthrown?

“Not as we list erect we empires new
On frail foundations laid in earthly mould,
Where of our faith and country be but few
Among the thousands stout of Pagans bold,
Where naught behoves us trust to Greece untrue,
And Western aid we far removed behold:
Who buildeth thus, methinks, so buildeth he,
As if his work should his sepulchre be.

Poem – Jerusalem Delivered – Book 01 – Part 01

God sends his angel to Tortosa down,
Godfrey unites the Christian Peers and Knights;
And all the Lords and Princes of renown
Choose him their Duke, to rule the wares and fights.
He mustereth all his host, whose number known,
He sends them to the fort that Sion hights;
The aged tyrant Juda’s land that guides,
In fear and trouble, to resist provides.

The sacred armies, and the godly knight,
That the great sepulchre of Christ did free,
I sing; much wrought his valor and foresight,
And in that glorious war much suffered he;
In vain ‘gainst him did Hell oppose her might,
In vain the Turks and Morians armed be:
His soldiers wild, to brawls and mutinies prest,
Reduced he to peace, so Heaven him blest.

O heavenly Muse, that not with fading bays
Deckest thy brow by the Heliconian spring,
But sittest crowned with stars’ immortal rays
In Heaven, where legions of bright angels sing;
Inspire life in my wit, my thoughts upraise,
My verse ennoble, and forgive the thing,
If fictions light I mix with truth divine,
And fill these lines with other praise than thine.

Thither thou know’st the world is best inclined
Where luring Parnass most his sweet imparts,
And truth conveyed in verse of gentle kind
To read perhaps will move the dullest hearts:
So we, if children young diseased we find,
Anoint with sweets the vessel’s foremost parts
To make them taste the potions sharp we give;
They drink deceived, and so deceived, they live.

Ye noble Princes, that protect and save
The Pilgrim Muses, and their ship defend
From rock of Ignorance and Error’s wave,
Your gracious eyes upon this labor bend:
To you these tales of love and conquest brave
I dedicate, to you this work I send:
My Muse hereafter shall perhaps unfold
Your fights, your battles, and your combats bold.

For if the Christian Princes ever strive
To win fair Greece out of the tyrants’ hands,
And those usurping Ismaelites deprive
Of woful Thrace, which now captived stands,
You must from realms and seas the Turks forth drive,
As Godfrey chased them from Juda’s lands,
And in this legend, all that glorious deed,
Read, whilst you arm you; arm you, whilst you read.

Six years were run since first in martial guise
The Christian Lords warraid the eastern land;
Nice by assault, and Antioch by surprise,
Both fair, both rich, both won, both conquered stand,
And this defended they in noblest wise
‘Gainst Persian knights and many a valiant band;
Tortosa won, lest winter might them shend,
They drew to holds, and coming spring attend.

The sullen season now was come and gone,
That forced them late cease from their noble war,
When God Almighty form his lofty throne,
Set in those parts of Heaven that purest are
(As far above the clear stars every one,
As it is hence up to the highest star),
Looked down, and all at once this world beheld,
Each land, each city, country, town and field.

All things he viewed, at last in Syria stayed
Upon the Christian Lords his gracious eye,
That wondrous look wherewith he oft surveyed
Men’s secret thoughts that most concealed lie
He cast on puissant Godfrey, that assayed
To drive the Turks from Sion’s bulwarks high,
And, full of zeal and faith, esteemed light
All worldly honor, empire, treasure, might:

In Baldwin next he spied another thought,
Whom spirits proud to vain ambition move:
Tancred he saw his life’s joy set at naught,
So woe-begone was he with pains of love:
Boemond the conquered folk of Antioch brought,
The gentle yoke of Christian rule to prove:
He taught them laws, statutes and customs new,
Arts, crafts, obedience, and religion true;

And with such care his busy work he plied,
That to naught else his acting thoughts he bent:
In young Rinaldo fierce desires he spied,
And noble heart of rest impatient;
To wealth or sovereign power he naught applied
His wits, but all to virtue excellent;
Patterns and rules of skill, and courage bold,
He took from Guelpho, and his fathers old.

Poem – Now The Waves Murmur

Now the waves murmur
And the boughs and the shrubs tremble
in the morning breeze,
And on the green branches the pleasant birds
Sing softly
And the east smiles;
Now dawn already appears
And mirrors herself in the sea,
And makes the sky serene,
And the gentle frost impearls the fields
And gilds the high mountains:
O beautiful and gracious Aurora,
The breeze is your messenger, and you the breeze’s
Which revives each burnt-out heart.

Poem – A Fair Exchange

Would you be much impressed, my dear,
Now you’ve adopted shorts,
If males like me came dressed, my dear,
In skirts, to divers sports?
With gussets, flares and pleats and things
Like that, we’d give our fancy wings
To grace the links and courts.

You should not worry very much,
Since male attire you choose,
If, with a chic Parisian touch
And taste in cut and hues,
We garbed ourselves, from neck to knees,
In crepe de chine or ‘summer breeze’
Of pretty pinks and blues.

Would frills and flounces seem absurd
Upon the manly form?
I don’t see why, upon my word,
Such gads, should raise a storm
Of ridicule. And, if they do,
Scorn coming from one garbed like you
Is really rather warm.

Think the position out, my dear,
And be consistent, please.
And, while you dash about, my dear,
In pants shorn to the knees,
You’re drawing from the normal male
The same loud laugh with which you’d hail
A man in fripperies.

Poem – Autumn Interlude

I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week,
To blooms, and to things like these, for Winter bleak
Was shouting loud from the hills, and flinging high
His gossamer net that fills frail Autumn’s sky.
So I said goodbye to the bees; for I knew that soon
I should bask no more ‘neath the trees on some high noon
And hark to the drowsy hum close overhead.
For the cold and rain must come, now Summer’s dead.

So I wallowed a while in woe and wooed unease;
And I rather liked it so; for it seemed to please
Some clamoring inner urge – some need apart,
And I felt self-pity surge, here, in my heart
As I said goodbye to the bees, my tireless friends
Who toil mid the flowers and the trees till daylight ends
Who toil in the sun, yet seem to find no irk,
While I loll in the shade and dream; for I do love work.

Ah, fate and the falling leaf! How dear is woe.
How subtly sweet is grief (Synthetic). So
I said goodbye to the bees; and then I wrote
This crown of threhodies, while in my throat
I choked back many a sob and salt tears spent.
But I felt I’d done my job, and was content.
For I’d penned my piece to the bees – the poet’s tosh
Of the Autumn’s drear unease. Ah, me! Oh, gosh!

I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week….
Then the tempest shook the trees, the swollen creek
Went thundering down to the plain, the wind shrieked past,
And the cold, and the wet, wet rain were here at last….
Then, a hot sun, scorning rules, shone forth, alack!
And those blundering, blithering fools, the bees came back,
Humming a song inance in the rain-washed trees. . . .
Now it’s all to do again. . . . Oh, blast the bees!

Poem – The Lips Of Ages

Down thro’ the ages these same sticks
Have played on man their knavish tricks.
Down thro’ the ages these false lips
Have been as blessings or as whips
To scourge poor man to actions rash
In waging wars or wasting cash.
Down thro’ the years, when Adam grieves,
Look to those painted lips of Eve’s.

Once, modesty suggested stealth
In simulating glowing health;
But now, alas, no shame restrains
Toilets performed in trams, in trains,
At table; for these candid days
Make nothing of the frank displays
Of carmine, lard and lanoline
To make plain Jane a beauteous queen.

Down thro’ the ages pig and sheep
Have tribute paid that men might weep
Or laugh or love or go quite mad
Because of lips in grease-paint clad.
Down thro’ the years, when heroes fall
Look not for mortal wound at all
Seek on his brow the thin red line
Of carmined lips – Eve’s fatal sign.

Poem – One Dull Man


Why did you play your spade in there? (said she).
I can’t think why you don’t take care (said she).
You fuss and fiddle with every card
As tho’ you found the game too hard
You hung on to your trumps until
They caught you napping. Really, Will,
You think and hesitate so long;
Then in the end you play it wrong.
Why, you can’t even call your hand.
You men! I cannot understand.
You are so stupid, dull and dense.
The game requires just common-sense.
But Bridge for you holds little gain:
Yet you’re supposed to have a brain (said she).

Tired? You? I hope I am no cat (said she)
But I must say I do like that (said she)
What about me? You go to town,
And gossip there with Smith and Brown.
And go to lunch and have a drink,
Yet in the evening you can’t think.
What about me? Your life’s the best.
Why should you crave for so much rest?
Ask any doctor. He will say
A business man should always play.
You should play more. You know you should.
A change of occupation’s good.
Yet, when I ask you to go out,
You say you’re tired and moon about.
What about me? Do I complain?
Why, it’s a wonder I keep sane
With all the dull monotony
That this existence holds for me.
You’ll tell me that I’m lazy soon.
Why, I played all the afternoon! (said she).

Did you, my dear? I didn’t know (said he).
Well, I suppose I must be slow (said he).
Yes, slow and dull. Again you’re right –
You always are . . .Heigh, ho! . . . Good night (said he).

Poem – The Alcoholic Albatross

Brothers, what are we to think
When we muse upon strong drink?
Is it bad or is it good?
Is it poison or is it food?

Albatrosses, so say some,
Find great benefit in rum,
And, in gratitude for nips,
Bring fair winds to troubled ships.

Others say the cocktail shaker
Is a noted trouble maker;
And declare that men stir up
Woe in every claret-cup.

But, so far as I’m concerned,
I may say I’ve never learned
Whether alcohol, in place,
Benefits the human race.

Take your choice. If you should think
Drink is good, why, have a drink;
But, if you are at a loss,
Give it to some albatross.

Funny Spell – Tess Gurney

Here we go, another spell,
tell me can you smell the smell?
bats feet rubarub, salt and gum
scrappings from an elephants bum!
This time i know I’ll win
when he drinks my spell for him
add a little eye of rat, sicky glue
stuff from underneath my shoe!
frogs legs, ant wings
bogies too, all these things i cast on you
Stir it stir it, dancing round
boiling caldron on the ground
make it bubble, rubble spit
add a fart that’ll do the trick
will he drink it?
hold his nose
please dont make me use the hose!
my bubbling coldron on the ground
dancing bare feet make no sound
my spell will work
this drink he takes
A carton from a wimpy shake
fill right up with spell of mine.
Mouse feet, chicken skin bacon ryn.
swallow it all, you will be mine.
wish this spell I did not make
Wish his heart was mine to take.

Funny Features – David Darbyshire

Barking dogs not a bone,
whining cats lots of rats.
Chirping birds comes a cyclone,
buzzing bee’s honey please.

This is our nature at it’s best,
do you realize that we are blessed?
Without these little creatures, and their funny features,
how would we learn? , who would be the teachers?

Funny World – Carolyn Brunelle

Funny how the very ones who
say they carry the light, also
bear the responsibility for causing
most of the pain in the world.
Funny how the loudest whiners
are the fanciest diners at the
buffet of humanity.

Funny how the rich are exempt
and the poor breed contempt;
how the nations with the most to give
play the best game of politics
supplying the weaponry that
eventually kills
even their own children.

Funny isn’t it how the world works
with its upside down righteousness
and its lawful in-justice, while
all the best parts of mankind are being
sucked out through the holes in the ozone
or dissolved completely in the furnace of
unrestrained industry, avarice and greed.

It’s a funny world alright;
funny how nobody’s laughing.

Poem – To Bi Siyao

Once stately figures in the art of rhyme,
Now sadly down at heels, our careers in ruin,
Regarded by our servants with disdain,
We are grown old and gray before our time.
Yet in your joyful, carefree company,
The most consoling thought occurs to me:
Though we are doomed to poverty and strife,
Our poems shall have a long and prosperous life.

Poem – Thoughts Of Li Po From The World’s End

Here at the world’s end the cold winds are beginning to blow. What messages
have you for me, my master? When will the poor wandering goose arrive? The
rivers and lakes are swollen with autumn’s waters. Art detests a too successful
life; and the hungry goblins await you with welcoming jaws. You had better have
a word with the ghost of that other wronged poet. Drop some verses into the
Mi-lo as an offering to him!

Poem – Twenty-Two Rhymes To Left-Prime-Minister Wei

Boys in fancy clothes never starve,
but Confucian scholars often find their lives in ruin.
Please listen to my explanation, Sir,
I, your humble student, ask permission to state my case.
When I was a younger Du Fu
I was honored as a national distinguished guest
and wore out ten thousand books in reading,
My brush was always inspired by gods,
my rhymed essays rivaled those of Yang Xiong,1
my poems were kin with those of Cao Zijian.2
Li Yong looked for a chance to meet me,
and even Wang Han3 wanted to be my neighbor.
I thought I was an outstanding person,
positioned at a key ferryboat route
and would assist an emperor like Yao or Shun,4
and make folk customs honest and simple again.
In the end this ambition withered.
I became a bard instead of a hermit,
and spent thirty years traveling on a donkey,
ate traveler’s rations in the luxury of the capital,
knocked on the door of the rich in the morning,
walked in the dust of fat horses in the evening,
ate leftover dishes and half-finished wine.
Wherever I went, I found misery hiding beneath.
When the emperor summoned me,
I was excited at this chance to stretch myself .
I saw blue sky but my wings just hung.
I was set back, had no scales to swim far.
I feel unworthy of your kindness,
and I know your sincerity:
in the presence of one hundred officials,
you read my best poems.
I am as happy as Gong Gong.5
Since it’s hard to imitate Confucius disciple Yuan Xian6
How can I feel unhappy about anything,
though my feet still drag as usual?
Now I plan to move east to the sea,
and leave the capital behind me in the west.
But I still feel attached to the Zhongnan Mountain,
and turn my head to look at the Wei River.
I think about my gratitude for one meal7
as I take departure from you, Prime Minister.
This white gull is lost in the waves.
Who can tame him in his journey of ten thousand miles?

Poem – Alone, Looking For Blossoms Along The River

The sorrow of riverside blossoms inexplicable,
And nowhere to complain — I’ve gone half crazy.
I look up our southern neighbor. But my friend in wine
Gone ten days drinking. I find only an empty bed.

A thick frenzy of blossoms shrouding the riverside,
I stroll, listing dangerously, in full fear of spring.
Poems, wine — even this profusely driven, I endure.
Arrangements for this old, white-haired man can wait.

A deep river, two or three houses in bamboo quiet,
And such goings on: red blossoms glaring with white!
Among spring’s vociferous glories, I too have my place:
With a lovely wine, bidding life’s affairs bon voyage.

Looking east to Shao, its smoke filled with blossoms,
I admire that stately Po-hua wineshop even more.
To empty golden wine cups, calling such beautiful
Dancing girls to embroidered mats — who could bear it?

East of the river, before Abbot Huang’s grave,
Spring is a frail splendor among gentle breezes.
In this crush of peach blossoms opening ownerless,
Shall I treasure light reds, or treasure them dark?

At Madame Huang’s house, blossoms fill the paths:
Thousands, tens of thousands haul the branches down.
And butterflies linger playfully — an unbroken
Dance floating to songs orioles sing at their ease.

I don’t so love blossoms I want to die. I’m afraid,
Once they are gone, of old age still more impetuous.
And they scatter gladly, by the branchful. Let’s talk
Things over, little buds —open delicately, sparingly.

I Do Not Care About Social Norms – Mirabai

I will fasten the bells of his love to my feet
And dance in front of Girdhar.
Dancing and dancing I will please his eyes;
My love is an ancient one.
My love is the only truth.

I do not care about social norms
Nor do I keep my family’s honour.
I cannot forget, even for a moment,
The beauty of my lover.
I am dyed in Hari’s colour.

No One Knows My Invisible Life – Mirabai

No one knows my invisible life.
and madness for Rama.
Our wedding bed is high up
in the gallows.
Meet him?
If the dark healer comes,
we’ll negotiate the hurt.
I love the man who takes care
of cows. The cowherd.
Cowherd and dancer.
My eyes are drunk,
worn out from making love
with him. We are one.
I am now his dark color.
People notice me, point fingers at me.
They see my desire,
since I’m walking about like a lunatic.
I’m wiped out, gone.
Yet no one knows I live with my prince,
the cowherd.
The palace can’t contain me.
I leave it behind.
I couldn’t care less about gossip
or my royal name.
I’ll be with him
in all his gardens.

Strange Are The Decrees Of Fate – Mirabai

Strange are the decrees of fate.

Behold the large eyes of the deer!
Yet he is forced to roam the forests.

The harsh crane has brilliant plumage,
While the sweet-voiced cuckoo is black.

The rivers flow in pure streams,
But the sea makes them salt.

Fools sit on thrones as kings,
While the wise beg their bread.

Mira’s lord is the courtly Giridhara:
The king persecutes the Bhaktas.

O I Saw Witchcraft Tonight – Mirabai

O I saw witchcraft tonight
in the region of Braj.
A milking girl going her rounds,
a pot on her head,
came face to face with the Dark One.
My friend, she is babbling,
can no longer say “buttermilk.”
– Come get the Dark One, the Dark One!
A pot full of Shyam! –
In the overgrown lanes
of Vrindavan forest
the Enchanter of Hearts fixed his
eye on this girl,
then departed.
Mira’s lord is hot, lovely
and raven –
tonight she saw witchcraft
at Braj.

Only He Knows The Bitterness Of Love – Mirabai

Only he knows the bitterness of love

Who has deeply felt its pangs.

When you are in trouble

No one comes near you:

When fortune smiles.

All come to share the joy.

Love shows no external wound.

But the pain pervades every pore

Devotee Mira offers her body

As a sacrifice to Giridhara for ever.

I Will Sing The Praises Of Hari – Mirabai

We do not get a human life
Just for the asking.
Birth in a human body
Is the reward for good deeds
In former births.
Life waxes and wanes imperceptibly,
It does not stay long.
The leaf that has once fallen
Does not return to the branch.
Behold the Ocean of Transmigration.
With its swift, irresistible tide.
O Lal Giridhara, O pilot of my soul,
Swiftly conduct my barque to the further shore.
Mira is the slave of Lal Giridhara.
She says: Life lasts but a few days only.

Life in the world is short,
Why shoulder an unnecessary load
Of worldly relationships?
Thy parents gave thee birth in the world,
But the Lord ordained thy fate.
Life passes in getting and spending,
No merit is earned by virtuous deeds.
I will sing the praises of Hari
In the company of the holy men,
Nothing else concerns me.
Mira’s Lord is the courtly Giridhara,
She says: Only by Thy power
Have I crossed to the further shore.

Lamps Burn In Every House – Kabir

Lamps burn in every house,
O blind one! and you cannot see them.
One day your eyes shall suddenly be opened,
and you shall see: and the fetters of death will fall from you.
There is nothing to say or to hear,
there is nothing to do:
it is he who is living, yet dead, who shall never die again.

Because he lives in solitude,
therefore the Yogi says that his home is far away.

Your Lord is near: yet you are climbing the palm-tree to seek Him.

The Brahman priest goes from house to house
and initiates people into faith:
Alas! the true fountain of life is beside you,
and you have set up a stone to worship.

Kabîr says: ‘I may never express how sweet my Lord is.
Yoga and the telling of beads,
virtue and vice-these are naught to Him.’

The Time Before Death – Kabir

Friend? hope for the Guest while you are alive.
Jump into experience while you are alive!
Think… and think… while you are alive.
What you call ‘salvation’ belongs to the time
before death.

If you don’t break your ropes while you’re alive,
do you think ghosts will do it after?

The idea that the soul will join with the ecstatic
just because the body is rotten —
that is all fantasy.
What is found now is found then.
If you find nothing now,
you will simply end up with an apartment in the
City of Death.
If you make love with the divine now, in the next
life you will have the face of satisfied desire.

So plunge into the truth, find out who the Teacher is,
Believe in the Great Sound!

Kabir says this: When the Guest is being searched for,
it is the intensity of the longing for the Guest
that does all the work.

Look at me, and you will see a slave of that intensity.

Are You Looking For Me? – Kabir

Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.
My shoulder is against yours.
you will not find me in the stupas, not in Indian shrine
rooms, nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:
not in masses, nor kirtans, not in legs winding
around your own neck, nor in eating nothing but

When you really look for me, you will see me
instantly —
you will find me in the tiniest house of time.

Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath.

Illusion And Reality – Kabir

What is seen is not the Truth
What is cannot be said
Trust comes not without seeing
Nor understanding without words
The wise comprehends with knowledge
To the ignorant it is but a wonder
Some worship the formless God
Some worship His various forms
In what way He is beyond these attributes
Only the Knower knows
That music cannot be written
How can then be the notes
Says Kabir, awareness alone will overcome illusion

माया गर्ने मान्छे – मन्दिरा मधुश्री



संसारमा धेरै मन पर्ने मान्छे तिमी

एउटा मात्र मेरो माया गर्ने मान्छे तिमी ।

उदाए नि जूनझैं सबको भाग पर्ने गरी

शीत बनी मेरै काखमा झर्ने मान्छे तिमी ।

मन्दमन्द पवन बनी स्पर्शमै लट्ठ्याएर

फूलबाट सुगन्धलाई हर्ने मान्छे तिमी ।

जलाएर दीयोको शीखाझैं आफैंलाई

आफ्नो ज्योति मेरै संघारमा छर्ने मान्छे तिमी ।

तिम्रालागि ज्यानै दिन्छु भन्नेहरू माझ

मेरो भागको जहर पिई मर्ने मान्छे तिमी ।


चामलको मान! – निशा राई

ग्रेट हिमालयन ट्रेल (पदमार्ग) ले ल्याएको पर्यटकीय चहलपहल बुझन केही महीनाअघि हुम्ला सदरमुकाम सिमकोट जाने मौका जुरेको थियो। नेपालगञ्जबाट सिमकोट पुग्ने एक मात्र विकल्पको रूपमा उपलब्ध ‘चिलगाडी’ को एउटा टिकटलाई पर्दोरहेछ– रु.१२ हजार! बिहान आठ बजे राँझा विमानस्थलमा हवाइजहाज चढ्दा त्यसका लगभग सबै सीटमा चामलका बोरा राखिएका थिए (हे.तस्बीर)। विमानमा दुई पाईलट र एक एअरहोस्टेस बाहेक मानव यात्रीमा एक अधबैंसे, दुई बालकसहितकी एक महिला र म पाँच जना मात्र थियौं। एअरहोस्टेसले ट्रेमा कपास र चकलेट ल्याउँदा म मनमनै चामलका बोरा गनिरहेकी थिएँ। त्यस्तै ४० बोरा थिए होलान्। यसरी लगिएको चामलको ढुवानी भाडा खाद्य संस्थानको हो भने प्रति किलो करीब रु.९५ र निजी हो भने प्रति किलो रु.१३० पर्दो रहेछ!

एक घण्टामा जहाज सिमकोट उत्रिंदा विमानस्थलमा २० जना जति नौजवान सुन जस्तो त्यो चामल पर्खेर बसेका थिए। काठमाडौंमा मैले कहिल्यै वास्ता नगरेको चामलको यत्रो मान देखेर म अवाक् भएँ। राजधानीमै जन्मेहुर्केकी मैले कर्णालीको दुःखको कथा पढे–सुनेकी त थिएँ, तर यथार्थसँग साक्षात्कार पहिलो पटक गर्दैथिएँ। यात्राका क्रममा मैले काठमाडौंका चोकहरूमा फोहोरसँगै फालिएका सहस्र सिताहरू सम्झिए । विमानस्थलबाट निस्केर सिमकोट बजारको विजय होटलमा खाना खान के बसेकी थिएँ, होटलका साहू विजय लामा फुर्तीसाथ चामलका बोरा बोकेका युवकहरूको हूल लिएर आइपुगे। अघि विमानबाट ल्याइएको चामलका १० बोरा उनैले मगाएका रहेछन्। विजय होटलबाट जिल्ला प्रशासनतिर लाग्दा बाटोको दायाँछेउमा खाद्य संस्थानको कार्यालय भेटिंदोरहेछ, जहाँ जिल्लाका ३० वटै गाविसको प्रतिनिधित्व गर्ने करीब १०० जना मानिस लाइन बसेका थिए। आ–आफ्नो गाविस सचिवको सिफारिस लिएर आएका तीमध्ये धेरैले त्यहीं रात बिताएका रहेछन्, भोलि रित्तोहात फर्किनु नपरोस् भनेर।

खाद्य संस्थानको चामल (धेरैजसो सडेको हुन्छ रे!) घरेलु मदिरा बनाउन प्रयोग भएपछि हुम्ला निकै बद्नाम भएको रहेछ, एकताका। सिमकोट बजारको एउटा रूखमा टाँगिएको साइनबोर्ड (हे.तस्बीर) ले रक्सी बनाएको भन्ने आरोपबाट जोगिन खोज्दै चामलबाट वञ्चित हुनु नहुने आशय झ्ल्काउँथ्यो। तैपनि, ‘हुनेखानेहरू’ ले चामलको जाँडरक्सी बनाउने गरेको ठोकुवा खाद्य संस्थानमा भेटिएका चामलका आकांक्षीहरूले गरे। सिमकोटका ‘हुनेखाने’ मा होटल व्यवसायी नै पर्दारहेछन्। “यहाँका हुनेखानेहरू सिडिओ र प्रहरी हाकीमको सिफारिसमा भनेको बेला भनेजति चामल पाउँछन्”, छिपरा गाविसबाट पूरा एक दिन हिंडेर आएका दानबहादुर शाहीले भने, “हामी चाहिं पाँच किलो कुहिएको चामलका लागि अघिल्लो बेलुकैदेखि ठेलाठेल गर्दै लाइनमा बस्छौं, आपसमा कुटाकुटसम्म गर्छौं।” दानबहादुर र त्यहाँ भएका अरूको कुरा सुनेर म हतप्रभ भएँ। कर्णाली अञ्चलमा भोकमरी हटाउन सरकारले २०३२ सालदेखि नै हवाइजहाजबाट खाद्यान्न पठाउने नीति लिएको रहेछ। त्यस अनुसार, हुम्ली जनताका लागि वडापिच्छे ५० केजी खाद्यान्न उपलब्ध गराउने सरकारी व्यवस्था रहेछ। जिल्लाका करीब ५६ हजार परिवारका ३ लाख २५ हजार जनसंख्यालाई यतिले पुग्ने कुरै भएन। त्यसमाथि, सदरमुकामबाट वितरण हुने यो चामलका लागि गाविसको सिफारिस लिएर आउनेमाथि सम्बन्धित गाउँका राजनीतिक कार्यकर्ता र सदरमुकामका ‘हुनेखाने’ ले झेल गर्छन् रे! सरकारले हालसम्म कर्णालीका पाँच जिल्लामा वार्षिक सरदर ३८ हजार क्वीण्टल चामल पठाउँदै आएको छ।
२०४६ पछिका सरकारहरूले कर्णालीलाई काठमाडौंमाथि निर्भर पार्ने पञ्चायती नीति त्यागेर विकास, दिगो कृषि र जीविकाका अन्य विकल्प दिएको भए हुम्लीहरूले शायदै यो पीडा भोग्नुपर्थ्यो होला। उनीहरू कसरी बाँचेका छन्, अब त सिंहदरबारले हेर्नुपर्‍यो!

बन्दरशिप – केदार शर्मा


नराम्रो नहेर्नु, नराम्रो नसुन्नु, नराम्रो नबोल्नु!

नराम्रा कुराबाट परहेज गर्न सावधान गराउने आँखा, कान र मुख थुनेका तीन बुद्धिमान बाँदर संसार प्रशिद्ध छन्।

‘गान्धीजीका बाँदर’ भनेर पनि चिनिने ती बाँदरहरू जापानका शिन्तो–ताओ परम्पराका कलाकृतिमा शताब्दीयौंदेखि विद्यमान छन्। ती बाँदर पुराना हुन्, प्रशिद्ध छन् र सरल छन्। तिनलाई प्रतीकका रूपमा लिनसके मान्छे नराम्रो हेर्न, नराम्रो सुन्न, नराम्रो बोल्नबाट सावधान हुनसक्छन्। तर ‘हामीलाई प्रतीकका रूपमा लिने मान्छेले गर्न हुने–नहुने कुरा हामीले नै निर्धारण गर्ने हो’ भनेर ती बाँदरले मान्छेका आँखा, कान र मुख थुनिदिन थाले भने अनर्थ हुन्छ। अनि तिनीहरूलाई नेपालको सञ्चार मन्त्रालय अन्तर्गतको सेन्सर बोर्डमा लगेर राखिदिए हुन्छ। प्रवृत्ति पुरानो हो, घटना अनेक छन्; ताजा प्रसङ्ग हो चलचित्र हाइवे को सेन्सरको। मान्छेको बोलीचालीमा आउने सामान्य शब्दहरू सेन्सरबोर्डलाई पचेन। एउटा पात्रले बोलेको फ८ भन्ने अंग्रेजी शब्दलाई उनीहरूले ‘यस्तो नामी पत्रकारका मुखबाट यो शब्द सुहाएन’ भने, डाइरेक्टर दीपक रौनियारले काटे। अन्त्यमा उनीहरूको ध्यान राजमार्ग बन्द गर्ने क्रममा आन्दोलनकारी पात्रहरूको ‘लिम्बूवान् जिन्दावाद’ भन्ने नारामा पुग्यो र त्यो पनि हटाउन भने। रौनियारले बहस गरिटोपले, “यहाँ कसैलाई मूर्दावाद भनिएको छैन। जिन्दावादको नारा हरेक दिन कहीं न कहीं घन्किरहेकै हुन्छ! रेडियो र टेलिभिजनबाट पनि यस्ता नारा घर–घरमा पुगिरहेकै छ। फिल्ममा चाहिं किन त्यही कुरा सुनिन नहुने?” सञ्चार मन्त्रालयको सहसचिव रहेकाले सेन्सर बोर्डका अध्यक्ष बनेका सुशील ओझाले प्रतिप्रश्न गरे, “सिनेमा किन रियल हुनुपरुर्‍यो त?”

केही समयअघिसम्म निकै उत्साही देखिएका रौनियार ट्वाँ परे; उनीसित बोल्ने शब्द बाँकी रहेन। जुनबेला स्याटेलाइट टेलिभिजनका माध्यमबाट संसारभरका श्रव्यदृश्य सामग्रीहरू घरघरमा छिर्न सक्दैनथे, त्यसबेला मान्छेले के हेर्नहुन्छ र के हुँदैन भन्ने कुराको ठेकेदारी राज्यले गर्थ्यो। नागरिकहरूले के हेर्नहुन्छ र के हेर्नहुँदैन भन्ने कुरामा अंकुश लगाउनु उचित थिएन, तर सम्भव थियो। तर, जमाना कहाँबाट कहाँ पुग्यो। प्रविधिले संसारको नक्सा फेरिदियो। नेपालको आकाशमा कहिल्यै नचिताइएका नाराहरू घन्किए, नचिताएको राजनीतिक परिवर्तन आयो। तर हैकम गएन, अतार्किक नियमहरू गएनन्। संविधानमा संघीयताका कुरा छन्, संघीयताकै वैसाखी टेकेर प्रधानमन्त्री खोच्याङ खोच्याङ गर्दैछन्। यता एउटा सहसचिव एउटा प्रस्तावित संघीय राज्यका नाममा जिन्दावादको नारा लगाउनसम्म दिंदैन।

अचम्म के छ भने, नेपालीहरूले हिंसा हेर्नहुन्छ। करीब १४ हजार मान्छे मारेको सशस्त्र युद्धलाई महान जनयुद्ध भन्दा हुन्छ। हिंसालाई महिमामण्डित गर्नहुन्छ। तथाकथित मूलधारका सिनेमामा बन्दूकले हानेर मान्छे रगताम्मे भएको र पक्लक्क पक्लक्क ढलेको हेर्नहुन्छ। काटेको मारेको हेर्नहुन्छ, तर जिन्दावाद भनेको हेर्नुहुँदैन। सेन्सरबोर्डमा बसेकाहरू तपाईंका मुख थुनिदिन्छन्, आँखा थुनिदिन्छन्, कान थुनिदिन्छन्। उनीहरू नराम्रो हेर्न, सुन्न र बोल्नबाट नागरिकहरूलाई जोगाउँछन्। तर ती बाँदरले ‘नराम्रो नगर्न’ नभनेकैले होला, त्यसै क्रममा आफू भने निकै नराम्रो काम गर्छन्। नागरिकहरूलाई ‘नराम्रो’ हेर्नबाट जोगाउने कर्मचारीहरू सरका’उपभोक्ताले माया गरे बच्छ वन’ ी हैसियतमा बसेर, चलचित्र सेन्सरको सरकारी काम गरेबापत उद्यमीहरूबाट सरकारी खातामा नजाने, कर नतिर्ने र भर्पाई नदिने गरी भत्ता खान्छन्। निर्माता/निर्देशकहरू बोल्न सक्दैनन्, किनभने चलचित्र देखाउन हतार भइसकेको हुन्छ। ‘लिम्बूवान जिन्दावाद’ भनेको काटिनु भनेको राजनीतिक कुरा हो। म भने एउटा अराजनीतिक नारा लगाउँछु, बन्दरशिप मूर्दावाद !

Small Sad World – The Black Rose

In a world where anything is possible,
Why are we forsaken to despair,

Hope is there to,
love and life,
yet we focus on the strife,

In our world,
a best friend is the one
whos helped you through so much,
Your with the one you love,
because theyve had it hard,
theyve had it just as tough,

Sadness makes the world go round,
its in our every step,
every breath we take,
we think it may be our last,
these thoughts dragging us
to the end of our days,

Were suppose to have balance,
have a bittersweet way to live,
maybe one day itll happen,
but for now,
screaming hearts,

sadness is our fate…

Sad Love Song – Nichita Stanescu

Only my life will die for me, in truth,
Only the grass knows the taste of the earth.
In truth, only my blood misses
my heart when it leaves.
The air is tall, you are tall,
my sadness is tall.
There comes a time when horses die.
There comes a time when machines grow old.
There comes a time when cold rains fall,
and every woman wears your head-
and clothes.
There also comes a huge white bird
and lays the moon in the sky.

Sad Girls – Uriah Hamilton

Human beings are fragile and need love
In this painful existence that begins with a slap
And often spirals downward into abuse
From the people who should desire to protect us.
Unkindness accumulates at school
And in the workplace,
You lose your original face
Of innocence and joy.

I’ve met sad girls I’ve wanted to kiss,
Rock them in my arms for eternity,
Remove the emotional scars of their history,
But I know, such scars never leave,
They’re deep razorblade-like cuts into the soul.

I haven’t learned yet
If I’m attracted to troubled and tragic girls,
Or if that is the only type of girl
I should expect.

How Sad – Barry Van Allen

Away from me she runs,
and after her I go,
as reminders of the past are found again.

Sometimes it’s worth the walk,
to stroll down memory lane,
but mostly, it is just not worth the pain.

The loves my life has known are not forgotten,
‘nor are the lessons taught to me by those once dear,
I have never known a love that’s just gone rotten,
but, I’ve had many loves just die from simple fear.

So, who’s afraid today?
is it you or is it me?
or… is it both of us,
and both refuse to see?

Within the recent past we’ve known the laughter,
and now you know a slice of me that even I don’t,
and yes, we ask ourselves ‘ Is this what we were after? ‘,
and in the asking, have we doomed the love we’ve known?

It does not grow, so then we know it must be bad,
we have misplaced the love that once we truly had,
in a way we are together going mad,
… Oh! , Dear – – – How sad!

Sad Case – William Cook

again & again
Oh! what a marvellous crime
your love is
& you’re driving me to death now
on the end
of your sharp tongue
& impeccable wit
& I’m drinking myself
normal again
You bitch!
I love you
here I am
crucify me, again. . .

Sad & Suicidal – Brandi Young

It pains me to see you this way
To see you so sad and suicidal
If i could only kiss you
and make your problems fade away

I would.
I would die a thousand times
Before i could ever forget about you
I love you and i won’t find anyone like you!

So why search for someone
When i know they could never
Compare to you!
I’ll only be happy if i’m with you!

I can’t stand
To see you so sad and suicidal
It rips me apart at the seems
and i unravel in front of the whole world

They stared an walked on!
Cause no one cares but you and i!
and it’s only for us to handle!

I cried when i’d seen her sitting there
What a razor in her hand
and tears streaming down her face
She’s so sad and suicidal

I sat up all night holding her in my arms
Singing ‘you are my sunshine’
She has a lot to live for, but she doesn’t care
She’s so sad and suicidal

When she told me i deserve someone better
I told her you are my only love
and that will never change
She’s so sad and suicidal

A Girl – Ezra Pound

The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast –
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child – so high – you are,
And all this is folly to the world.

The Girl Inside – Michelle Guza

the girl inside has a fear,
of what the girl inside holds so dear,
far from reality, but always in dream,
the girl inside is screaming althought it may not seem,
it grows louder and louder everyday,
just wondering why the feeling just wouldnt stay,
the girl inside more then ever wants to run,
just wanting to tell everyone that she is done,
the girl inside feels sick all over,
in her head she feels so drunk,
she just cant seem to shake this phunk,
the girl inside just wants to die,
even when the girl out side wond dare to cry,
the girl inside has a fear,
of what the girl inside holds so dear,
but the girl outside just wont let it near! ! !

African Funeral – Onzia Dan

They have arrived again my friend!
To be with us again
To claim bond of relations with the deceased
As if they were blood bond relatives with the fallen blood
You see, with their crocodile faces and tears they landed
Pretending to be generous.
With their uncircumcised heart and coordinated prayers
They smell what the fallen brother has left.
Look at their leaking mouth
For the visit of death erects their ears.

This poem tells how people go for burial or funeral with their different motives and interests especially in Africa.

The Funeral – Sean Joyce

Weasel words
with easy starts
are not the first
ones to our hearts
when the cold cadaver light of day
takes one of those we love away

After the funeral
– when the funeral was over
– After we had buried him

We walked across the grass
…We walked across the grass
leaving footprints in the dew

footprints in the dew
How was that possible
’God’s name how was that possible

with him forever
And now, forever
footprints forever

looking back across the grass
The warmth of the day
losing us all, forever

A Funeral – Juan Olivarez

I can see all things now.
I can see so many tears.
I can see so much pain, In so many faces.
I can see it all so clearly now.

I can sense the pain,
In the souls passing by.
I can feel hearts breaking,
I can feel so much sorrow, that shouldn’t be.

Please don’t weep, not for me.
I am so much better off now.
Can you believe, I am actually happy.
I can see everything so clearly now.

Look up, see the leaves as they move,
See the clouds as they float by.
Feel the wind on your face,
Taste the rain on your tongue.

It is me.
I still exist.
I will always be with you.
I still exist.

Thanks For Calling – Diana Holinski

Thanks for calling
You’re a gem
That is why
I said ‘je’taime’
Voice of reason
Voice of calm
Voice that acts like
Chaos balm
Landing strip for
All my ‘stuff’
Still wondering when
You’ll say ‘enough! ‘
Never seem to
Lose your cool
Even when I’m
Such a fool
Let me throw
Myself at you
Take Liberties
Without your cue
And when my mind
Flies with the wind
You have your glove out
Trusted friend

Thanks – Widelene Ermat

Thanks for being there
Always being so aware
Thanks for being near when I needed you here
Thanks for staying so close when I needed you the most

Thanks for the love your rain on me like a dove
Always seeming as if you are from right above
Thanks for the times you seem to help me enjoy love

Thanks for being here when I need someone near
Thanks for being there
Also for being so fair

Thanks for saying hi
When they all shouted good-bye
Thanks for giving me the time of day
When all your friends didn’t bother to say hey

Thanks To You – Brie Carter

Thanks to you
I can no longer open up and let my guard down
Thanks to you
I wonderif the next man I meet will be online fooling around
Thanks to you
I question if he will also be looking for the next best thing
Thanks to you
I have no hope in what tomorrow could bring
Thanks to you
I trust no one
Thanks to you
My days are no longer fun
Thanks to you
My tears still fall like rain
Thanks to you
Everyday my heart is in pain
Thanks to you
I obsess about what is so unloveable about me
Thanks to you
I am a prisoner to my oun obsessive thought and you hold the key
Thanks to you
I have picked myslf apart
Thanks to you
I dissected every piece of my heart
Thanks to you
I now reside in an emotional tomb
Thanks to you
Within my heart love will no longer bloom
Thanks to you

Thanks – Catrina Heart

My thankfulness for the sacred text
you have engraved on my obelisk

The hieroglyphics carved means so much
In my journey to the seven seas

You stood to be my beacon on the storm
You stood as a tree seeing my history

Thanks once again for the friendship
Painting my days really worth remembering

Thanks For Remembering Us – Dana Gioia

The flowers sent here by mistake,
signed with a name that no one knew,
are turning bad. What shall we do?
Our neighbor says they’re not for her,
and no one has a birthday near.
We should thank someone for the blunder.
Is one of us having an affair?
At first we laugh, and then we wonder.

The iris was the first to die,
enshrouded in its sickly-sweet
and lingering perfume. The roses
fell one petal at a time,
and now the ferns are turning dry.
The room smells like a funeral,
but there they sit, too much at home,
accusing us of some small crime,
like love forgotten, and we can’t
throw out a gift we’ve never owned.