Bijaya Bajimaya
A storm is rising in the mind
it is difficult to row the boat
— calm/—carefree/—fixed
it is difficult to give time a pace
The more I row with these oars
the more I get tired and the achievement is nil
Smearing colors throughout my face
—red/—black/—blue/—of excitement/—of anger/—of fear
I raise these hands in protest
and live peacefully
it is my right that before I empty myself I reiterate a conviction
—all the tolerance in me breaks into pieces; gradually it is
crumbling down
—there is a limit to burning as well
once in boiling point, it begins to spill
however fiercely do I make my voice strong by spouting slogans
—if we have not been able to break the cage
I find myself a prisoner every moment
—prisoner of predicament
This moment from which the shrine compound shall I pick up
white pairs of pigeons
and pretending which day shall I declare peace?
Is it impotence of someone to sacrifice oneself,
destroying this life?
But why does this life become an object of royal game?
Why is someone’s right to live snatched away?
I have no words to express regarding those unknown martyrs
who, receiving bullets in their chests, became free
When I am giving expression of directed speech
by controlling myself with reigns of my own weakness
in this nation,
To whom can I give any suggestion?
By building a bridge of weakness
ambition may break down at the centre,
failing to bear the weight
how far can I remain proud
by pointing at that mountain
by repeating the same history?
At his moment, hungry leeches are sucking blood
from my own body
The farmers have already sung their summer song
and my tune snatched away from being blessed
—my tune/—and voice
are shouting slogans now
—in this reality that is faltering because of its failure to maintain
its balance
how far shall I imitate
this century when a life is surviving
at this moment
I raise my hands in protest
by gathering disagreements
and crossing the wall
I shout slogans in the street
Translated by Govinda Raj Bhattarai