Madhav Prasad Ghimire
There beyond the Machhapuchchhre peak
Is Muktikshetra with its myriad lamps in the gurgling spring.
Your birth-place, the divine seat of the first rays,
O Ganges Kali ! Say how make the black stone smooth?
Like the Ganges in the divine body of the sage Janhu
Your holy current courses round my heart,
With waves bearing the shadow of bowing trees at the bank
Through which the swans may travel from the vale to the top.
This is the vale where Jadabharata had performed his meditation,
Where divine maidens while filling their water jars had dropped golden flowers,
Touched as if by the feet of undaunted Lord Vishnu
My stones contain the essence of the heavenly city’s art.
“Rending mighty cliffs had I reached far;
With equal ardor had I embraced the rough and the smooth.”
Perhaps you inscribe this with different signs on stones,
O how I make myself in art apparent!
O’ Man! Deep in your heart is hidden the unnamed essence,
Figures of different hues arise, already baptized inside you,
You are indeed the only source of all beauty and happiness,
And also the only flaw in creation of your heart is not in sense.
In this earth the figure of the fumbling artist weeps.
Men walk away in smiles; who heeds the others in tears?
O my sculptor! Give a form vigorous to all this.
Let a simple tiny creation the world entire.
May sunshine sprawl in the shady forest green.
May beauty be the one to be seen rarely in this city’s life.
May the skill be such as to reserve beauty’s place in the abode of gods.
May the oil in my lonely cottage be the only witness.
In creations new do I find my pleasure every day
And so to forget myself in the rapture of creation
The one to miss the source of self in one’s breast
Misses the means to ally the unquenched thirst of one’s heart.
When this body will tumble in labor’s course
When the sun will sink behind the tallest peak
With the amber glow in peace will I shut my eyes
O Kali! along your bank will I come to Muktinath.
Jhooma, my divine nymph, the Devdasi of the hills
On whose shoulders repose the looks of dense tresses
Will lead me inside the cave of the highest peak,
Lighting her way with the holy butter-lamp in the evening of this sort.
The sun’s rays remaining behind will rest in the snow-peaks
The intriguing lines and colors of the day will hide under shadows
Only Muktinath immobile like a mountain majestic will there be
With the seven stars beaming beyond the Damodar peak, meditating.
[From “Modern Nepali Poems” published by Nepal Academy. Translator not mentioned.]
[Madhav Ghimire (1919-2o20)), the poet of the nation, is highly acclaimed for his metrical verses and songs that have become a part of the collective memory of the Nepalese. He has authored dozens of short epics, lyrical plays and poetry collections, the best-known of them being Guari, Kinnar-Kinnai, Malai Mangale, Manachinte Murali, Raja-Rajeshwari, etc. ]