Yogen Guragain
As a child,
I learnt of death’s existence
Only when my grandfather fell sick one winter
He stayed bedridden for weeks with fever
I would hang around him
Even when he had already lost faith in life.
He becomes anxious of his worsening condition,
Meanwhile, a funeral procession rushes down the hill
With a shankha being blown to invite villagers to join
Lying in the sun, he hesitantly raises his head to listen
His face withers in a second
He used to organize cremations in the village
But they will soon arrange one for him
My grandpa brought the fear of death in me
My innocence was broken then.
I came to realize
Life had an end.
Time went by
My beloved grandfather passed away
Swarms of radio stations would emerge
They would enjoy reporting deaths
by accidents, wars, diseases, or the tyrants
Unsurprisingly, not by age
I heard people laugh out death
I also saw people weaponize or honor death
Thus, I grew numb to the inevitability of death
Today, death does not even tingle me
What torments me is
I was too naïve to be scared by the sense of death during my childhood.
[Guragain is a Nepali poet originally from Itahari and presently a resident of New York City, USA. He can be reached at yoge.passion44@gmail.com]