Hem Bishwakarma
There is a mountain
Who always plays a
green flute
She grooves the
melody of trees
And sings a
melancholic song for the valley
A powerful poem
she recites
On his old-aged
narration!
Sometimes, she
wails
So melts the rock—as
a heart
The more, while
the night of rainfall
The laborers of
life
Take a swim and douche
Quench the wrath
of thirst
In a pond of
mountain-tears
The weather flies
for foreign
Ejaculating
colorful semen
The mountain nurtures
her daughters
With a lot of love
and devotion
The seasons like
rapist persistently
Assaults the
daughters and destroys
Usually, the
mountain endures
The landslide of her
own heart broken
However, she
retains the moon-fruiting sky
The green flute withstands, yet!
Somewhere,
The mountain remains
plunged into pains
In fact, the
mountain has a giant heart!
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