Sunita Khanal
My mother often says—
The shadow that throngs the money tree
Is that of your father.
Since that day
Another shadow has been thronging the base of the tree.
I am young, like a bud
Slender are my feet
My hands are tender
And my eyes too young to teach the treetop
Father’s hands were robust, like a rock
His arms were strong, like a plough-shaft
His chest, like a cliff
And shoulders, like terraces in a field
His eyes were sharp like Arjuna’s bow
His eyes had dreams, like cotton on a cottonwood tree
And had a river of sorrow flowing in the dream;
And my face
Was rippling in the same river.
Yes, to save the same face
My father haunted the base of the same tree for ages
But could never make it to the top.
The politicians climbed with guns in hand
The gurus climbed with chalk-dust
The party workers climbed with stones
And the shopkeepers with their purses
The landlords climbed with land-ownership cards
The musicians climbed with their drums
And the worshippers with sacrificial blood;
But my father?
My mother often says—
The shadow that throngs the money-bearing tree
Is that of my father.
One day I saw my father
Hanging from the lowest branch of the tree.
That was the day
When a new shadow started thronging the base of the tree
And that shadow was mine.
Trans: Mahesh Paudyal
[Sunita Khanal (b 1990) is a Nepali poet and journalist. Author of O Nayak, a collection of poems, she has also been widely published by periodicals and magazines. A master’s degree holder in literature, she has left a lasting impression on the minds of the Nepali readership through her forceful recital of poems woven with unique symbolism to talk about the common people. ]