Kali Prasad Rijal
Looking into the mirror,
I reckon, I had had a glimpse of myself, somewhere
like having known; like having talked with.
Unsure, in solitude or in crowd,
in happiness or among sobs,
in dreams or in reality
in the courtyard or in a foreign land
or else, on someone’s face
I feel like having met; like having seen.
Looking into the mirror
I seemingly spot the shadow of my own heart
falling on the face
like having touched the self,
like some secrecies unmasked,
like hurling queries unto the self; like questioning across.
The self, seemingly being hunted by own eyes,
the eyes seem drooping,
apparently with some vacillation, and some fear
like the self, being hid,
somewhere among the nooks, deep within the self.
Seemingly helpless
seemingly tired
miserable, hapless,
empty, devoid of all enthusiasms
exhausted hunter, exhausted prey,
unable to chase, unable to run
both apparently fallen on the same spot
as though an arrow, and a heart
have been laid together.
Looking into the mirror, I feel
like being taken around myself
by my own crowd
with black soot self-smeared over the face,
being carried along on my own cart,
beating the tin up with my own heart
amidst self-spitting and self uproar.
Looking into the mirror, sometimes,
I feel like tearing my own mouth up.
I feel I should smash the eyes, and break the head
with stones hurled by the self,
I feel like reducing myself to innumerable pieces
looking into the mirror, at times,
I feel, I should caress, and wipe my tears myself;
place in my own lap, and tenderly kiss and love.
At times I feel, I should embrace the self,
and cry in arms to my limits;
give myself a wash, but perhaps,
a mere glass shall comes into arms
and a forceful smother might break it to pieces.
It might prick, and blood might ooze
the glass pieces remind me of self-fragmentation
a feeling of deep cut, somewhere within
and feels as though my own self, and not blood, is flowing.
It feels as though the self aches somewhere within.
A glass answers a question with a question,
every gesture too in the same gesture,
looking into it, I feel like being frozen into glass,
and the self getting locked into my own frame
and feel as if the mirror, and not I, is looking out
as if the self is mounted on the self with studs,
as if I have stripped myself naked with my sight,
and caught my guilty hands with my own hands
as if, I hold my own anatomy,
hanging the self down my own head,
seemingly killing and locking the self within,
like getting the self, and spending everything.
(Translated by Mahesh Paudyal for Dancing Soul of Mount Everest, published by Nepali Kalasahitya.com Pratisthan)
Poet Kali Prasad Rijal is also known for his successful songs of love and pain. His trademark lies in his ability to express human sensibilities marred by contemporary happenings, assimilating the spirit of time in simple and lucid musicality. Poet Rijal was born on 22 March 1940 in Dharan. He started writing in 1951 and his first published work, a poem, appeared the same year in Jyoti. Since then, he has delivered several book of poems and songs which includes poetry collections Jwarbhata, Rijalka Kehi Kavita, Yo Prashna Kosita Sodhou, Aafailai Harayepachhi, collections of songs and poems Ke Chha ra Jindagi, Bitaidinchhu, Aankha Chhopi Narou Bhani, Kehi Geet, Kehi Ghazal etc. He translated BP Koirala’s novel Sumnima into Hindi. For his contributions, Rijal received Pragya Pratisthan Medal, Ratna Shri Gold Medal, Chhinnalata Award, Harihar Sashtri–Savitri Devi Sahitya Award, Krishna Kumari Manorath Nepal Sahitya Award etc. He lives in Kathmandu with his family.