Saru Pokhrel
Recalling his nest left behind
He has arrived now,
With the falling of dusk,
Like early-flying doves,
Searching for his own old footprints:
“To his birthplace.”
The city with throngs,
Harbors hunger and diseases;
All in all, it is the conveyor of death.
To save himself from the city’s rabbles,
He has returned to the countryside:
In its bushy trails,
Making a path of his footsteps,
He just stands in the courtyard.
A wick-lamp spreads lights;
Slicing the evening,
The sparkling moon, like him, has fallen on the yard,
While the stove is about to flame out,
Reaching the middle of the door,
It’s ‘He’ that stands today in the mother’s eyes;
Not despair.
(Translated by Nirjala Pandit)
[Saru pokhrel is a story writer and poet. She has published two story books Muna Tusaepachhi and Chiso Gham, besides several articles on social issues. She is currently living in Kathmandu, Nepal with her family.]
Beautiful poem!