By Geeta Tripathee
Others weigh her freedom
Against the measures of caste
But in me she grew
Verdantly as does parijat!
A pair of her eyes
Are apparently common
Like the size of withering letters these days
But I can read with a great ease
The immensurable bound and free tunes
In her eyes, sensitive like seasons
A warrior finishing as a victor
In a war with her own history
She shaped her own identity
Picking apt words here and there;
When you were caught up
Measuring the size of her eyes
She had grown big enough to brew
Gold on sandy banks;
She is herself her creator
Herself her steward
Time today is following
The edges of those narrow eyes
Their depth, like that of River Seti
Too profound to swim across
And appalling like a far-off tunnel
All these are, however, mere plays for her
For that, before light has befallen your eyes
She has spilled herself like light
In the farthest hinterlands
She is herself a book, its most essential content
Her clarity is far more acceptable than a letter
Squeezed to a miniature size by the publishers
Trans: Mahesh Paudyal
[Geeta Tripathee (b. 1972) is a Nepali poet, critic and essayist. Assistant Professor of Nepali at Tribhuvan University, poet Tripathee has several books to her credit that include books of poetry, essays and literary criticism. She is also known for her theoretical writing on literary theory and criticism.]