Sleepless Night and Moths Around the Lamp                         

Laying down an exhausted day
on the bosom of the hill
the sky at the moment
is wrapped up
in the dark embrace of
a blind night.

The Dharahara
standing bolt upright on its self esteem,
and the Clock Tower,
to utter an alarm of consciousness,
are sound asleep in tune with the tranquil night.

covered in the thick blanket of darkness
lain flat on the slumbering earth
the night, now,
brazenly munching shamelessness
is pretending to have fallen asleep.

On a sleepless, blind night,
looking for a handful of light around the lamp,
hurling themselves in the pond of fire,
a swarm of moths
under the spell of light
are embracing an abrupt death.

Breaking into fragments
its undivided existence,
the leaping flame of the lamp,
is getting transformed
into the fatal tongue of lizard,
into the avtar of Surasa
lolling out its tongue,
the lizard
is swallowing the golden dreams
of the wounded moths.

Unaware of the wiles of conspiracy,
singeing their fluffy wings,
receiving burns in their calm heart,
grappling with death every night,
witnessing and bearing
generations of their kind perish,
and to prevent the invasion
of the lizard upon the light,

once again,
announcing a fresh fierce war,
and awaiting a glorious victory
poor moths, around the lamp,
are repeating
a process.

translated from Nepali: Mukul Dahal                                           content table     

BINAYA RAWAL

The Meaning Of Freedom 

The day before yesterday-
the day - was a dream.
Therefore
when a cat crossed their way
and in the night
when dogs howled
people took alarm

Yesterday-
the day- a little choked.
But
before the people rose
the sun vanished.

Today-
the day-is unshackled
probably it's dissipated.
In the garden, therefore-
the thorn in the rose plant
is hanging his head in shame.

Procession Of Wolves And The Flow Of History

Now, now
A pack of wolves got in on a procession!
How electrifying!

It's only yesterday
They were buried.
How come today
Could they wake up from the ghats!

The ones attending the funeral rites
are staring at the procession, baffled
and scratching their heads.

History
at this hour
has been a good book
decorating a showcase.

translated from Nepali: Dinesh Kumar Poudel                                                     content table

PRAMOD PRADHAN 

Poetry and Jungle

Poetry and jungle
or jungle and poetry
are one and the same.

Letters like leaves,
leaves like letters.

Words like twigs
or twigs like words.

Lines resembling trees
or trees resembling lines.

Really, to me
poetry and jungle
or jungle and poetry
are one and the same.

I read a poem
and experience a delight
one feels walking alone in the forest.

I stroll about in the forest
and experience a pleasure
that springs from reading
a poem all alone in the room.

To get lost deliberately in the forest,
and to delve deep down in a poem,
reap the same delight.

You agree or not,
but to me,
poetry and jungle
or jungle and poetry are similar,
one and the same…..

You are at liberty to call it anything.
But I put a question to you;
isn't jungle too a poem of the nature?

translated from Nepali: Mukul Dahal                                                                content table