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By Dr. Khum Narayan Paudayal 

Poet Dr. Khum Narayan Paudayal

No birds hither, nor the drops in the garden or terraces
No fragrance of the flowers, nor the cool whispering of the poplars
The destiny today is to weep, shout and go restless
and run with terror-shrunk footsteps
life is like a country in curfew.

Culture at times hops in
It's ages now since the self-respect was strangled
The hills vibrate entangling the creepers
and sprouts an outlet
- from light to darkness
- from darkness to light
cot, room/narrowed yards and roads
shape and figures/habits and ideas/torn are the reasons and thought
yet, time stands proudly in lame legs.

Beatings of seductive drums indulge the youth in its battle
Amassing the whole of unending journey of affliction and starvation
Man - the wanton is busy relishing raw flesh
Men, nature and the crippled hour
bearing the pricking of a piece of pen and paper

How can it remain aloof
- from this storm
- from this attack

The pen and paper too are robbed of their chastity
Not dead is the only blood stained pen
It's alive wearing the rag gown of experience!

It's long since faith passed away
fighting in sleeves, ideas are entangled in delusion
though amputated, time stops not
- to cross the furthest end of hillock.

This journey, journey

tree/road/house journeying
even hill is journeying
catching the lucky moments of journey

Dark clouds journeying out there
The sun is in exile - far from the country yards
Only the darkness is stepping in through the thresholds

The bald history wears an old jersey
the present is again dripping the pride and is
spreading fallacy within
knowing that unless the space of thought is made
spacious enough
- cease-fire will not stop the battle
Peace cannot be established by freeing
the pigeons in the sky of vultures.

Amidst the torture camps
searching of nation for some is a pain
Devalued are not the desire and courage to survive
Blades everywhere, blade reference and
in the reference is the affection of touch of truth
But like the sun, truth too is in exile.

The clouds of uncertainty, fear and doubt have
enveloped the heights of each mind.

Mothers are crying in the hospital gates
demanding the dead-body of their sons. 

Their voice is crushed under the thundering boots.
The tide of suffocation in the sea of miseries and pain
is rising to throats

nobody speaks-
weather is fine today. 

Beauty doesn't seem to touch
any heart.
Instead, life is like a country in curfew.

Translated by: Dr. Hari Sarmah

(Courtesy: Kavita 78)