When the dancing paddies in the fields
in between yellow and the green
develop friendship with the bamboo leaves
then it feels as if each moment of life
is swinging likewise
in the matchless jargon of love.
What type of game is this?
what type of meeting is this?
somewhat different,
some similarity,
and among some dissimilarities
like dusty soil
and like a muddy path
but in the middle of the same road
like a full bloomed lotus
difficult to define
beyond understanding
and hard to notice at a glance
recognize not suddenly
walks disguised
this farcical life.
Somewhere baseless doubt
somewhere total belief
somewhere anonymous thought
something like about to open
somewhat like dumb with anger
hard to notice happy or sad
might it be smile or a cry
difficult to distinguish
like a silk cotton tree across the hill
this life a poor life.
Like a rainfall without clouds
like a rainbow sans colors
like a word not spoken, yet willing to speak
like a frozen thought during thinking
like a two line poem composed lazily
like a word hated to listen from others
and the self could not utter
really what a pageant like life it is.
this life a poor life?
Comic to talk to others
but grows anger when you tell yourself- a fun,
in an irregular pattern.
Translated by Ishwor Kadel
No comments:
Post a Comment