Standing in a Market

Suman Pokharel

Lost in its maze 
Buried in its sound 
I’m reading this market–
Listening to its crescendo. 

–How much is this cock? 
–No, I’m not going 
–Come, what may! 
–Oh, look at the other side! 
–Yesterday morning, that is. 
–Oh, how did you gain such weight? 

This market 
Surging with sound of stream 
Slogged by monsoon rain 
Paints its picture 
With each stroke of speech. 

But doesn’t know its own face 
This melee 
Does not recognize its own picture 
This hectic rush– 
Only speaks relentlessly. 

Addressing oneself— 
–Move a little, will you? 
–Across the river. 
–Three hundred and twenty. 
–Not sure, you know. 
–Same place of last year 
–Oh, from tomorrow. 
–Who with? 
–Where did you sleep? 
–This is fresh from our garden. 

You may collect a bagful seeds of poetry 
By picking up these words. 
Life may be climbing rungs of ladder 
Stepping on each sentence here 
But 
Words caught in the competition of 
Selling troubles and buying dreams 
Even ignore changing colours 
Climbing on their faces. 

Only keep repeating 
Their own dialogues 
Never imagined before. 

–Let us sit here a while. 
–What kind of a man is this! 
–Should have a look once. 
–Where from? 
–Oh, how can that be possible? 
–Hot water? 
–What did she look like? 
–No, not everywhere. 
–What time to go? 
–Over the log. 

Voices lost in pursuits 
Of their own interests 
Create their own music and return 
Carrying each a melody of life. 

–There’s absolutely nothing today. 
–I guess that’s a little too expensive! 
–Oh, so tired! 
–Last time also it was like that. 
–Forget about the tea. 
–In the next house. 

Do you think we can read out to the market 
An easy poem composed out of itself? 
Will it be possible to explain 
The pictures to the market 
Carved over the sky of its dreams? 
Could we enrapture the market 
By the symphony 
Composed from its cries and mirth? 

This market speaking life 
When heard from each person 
Is now making staggering confused noise 
Of all people speaking together. 

Pristine river of lives 
Is swallowed by the crowd– 
Human getting lost into humans. 

Man and woman cease to be humans 
Once they get lost into crowds. 

Is market like people 
Who live as humans when they’re alone 
But live as great complexity 
When they’re in groups? 
 

Translated by Abhi Subedi 

Suman Pokhrel is one of the most influential poets of contemporary Nepal. A polyglot with an ability of write and communicate across several languages, he is a poet of continental repute. Born on September 21, 1967 he is a poet, lyricist, playwright, translator, and an artist who is considered one of the most important creative voices of South Asia. His works have been acclaimed and are published internationally. Suman Pokhrel is only writer to receive SAARC Literary Award twice. He received this award in 2013 and 2015 for his own poetry and his contributions to poetry and art in general in the South Asian region. His published works include Shoonya Mutuko Dhadkanbhitra (Inside the Beatings of a Void Heart, poems), Jeevanko Chheubata (From the Vicinity of Life, poems), Hazaar Aankhaa Yee Aankhamaa (Thousand Eyes in these Eyes, poems). Among the works he translated are Shakespeare’s Tempest (play) and Ajit Caur’s One Zero One (biography). He is the recipient of SAARC Literary Award (two times), Parikalpana Award, Jaycees Award for Literature from Biratnagar Jaycees, Person of the Year (Literature) by Youth for Blood, Aarohan Bishesh Samman 2013  conferred by Aarohan Gurukul and Jayandra Best Book of the Year 2009,  conferred by Jayandra Prasai Academy 2010. He lives with his family at Biratnagar.