- Death
Mere actors on the stage of life we are, the bard wrote
Let us rage against the dying of the light
Dylan Thomas aptly put.
The dying of youth is also to be raged and not forgotten
It is to be remembered to die is not equal to being forgotten.
Death does not kill the contentment earned and peace gathered
Mirror of survival is its opposite if not shattered.
What dies and what lives is a like moment of recognition.
Some gather public fame after their death,
In condolences, talks and remembrances about them.
Death isn’t a mere oblivion—
It is a sum of life for the rest of the rested life.
Death does not end the legacy of a believer
It transpires the journey of life like undisturbed ripples.
Our political leaders invite death of sold dreams
With foreign remittances
Where followers of destiny bring coffin to life.
Our youths returning home in coffin from foreign country
Is invited death, a weak compulsion.
Many cross seven seas to enable their family to live through
The seventh day of a week.
Death is kept busy in its worldly attire when wandering soul
Rummages for its life abroad.
When language is dead literature thrives with blood.
Death is a color of chaos;
Sometimes death is measured
When lives have to be tamed for survival.
Death is a melting point;
It can be your limit of over-looking horizon.
Death is a powerful sunya
For every manifestation and success is supremely alive before
Being judged in the life taking court of death.
Death is a blink of an eye and comes slow to some
When the circle of life meets and ends.
Does death complete a life when the circle of life ends?
Death is the silence of the voice.
In the snow of beauty lies the daggers of deadly ice.
Life is to be choosed from the closet of death.
Script every nuance to dance with the force of life,
Heal the death of soul before forsaking the gift of life.
***
2. Air of War
My cap is the snow
Of the mighty mountain.
I see it is melting gradually.
My golden crown is rusty now
The gold has been worn out
And only the yellow remains.
I hear the flowing river weeping
And the tears keep boiling.
There is a war in the world
Now blowing in the air.
I am trying to not mix the air of war
With the air that I inhale.
The air of war has blown like storm
And uprooted tiny budding dreams
The fresh minds are shattered
And also, the strongest bonds
Disobey the vows of humanity.
Many will be left homeless
Hungry and scorching roofless sun
Sucking them dry and
Making them insensitive to life.
[Sushant Thapa is a Nepalese poet from Biratnagar, Nepal who holds a Master’s degree in English literature from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India. He has published three books of poetry namely: The Poetic Burden and Other Poems (Authorspress, New Delhi, 2020), Abstraction and Other Poems (Impspired, UK, 2021) and Minutes of Merit (Haoajan, Kolkata, 2021). Sushant has been published in places like The Gorkha Times, The Kathmandu Post, The Piker Press, Trouvaille Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Impspired, Harbinger Asylum, New York Parrot, Pratik Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Dope Fiend Daily, Atunis Poetry, EKL Review, The Quiver Review, Dissident Voice, As It Ought To Be Magazine and International Times among many.]
Two Poems by Sushant Thapa
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