A Torso

Amrita Smriti

Who are you,
Who has come like a mental-storm
To stand still on my front-yard
Blindfolding both my eyes
And sending chilling tremors to my heart?

Who are you at my doorsteps
Jeering at the poem I am scribbling
Making fun of my gaits and my dance
And invoking incessant darkness
Until hairs in me are sent rising?

Which painful cadence are you playing
To flow, touching dimensions of my heart,
Staring at me with pathetic eyes?
I could not tell who you are
Standing beside me with an antique wound
And asking: Have you got any balm?

I am the half-made story
You abandoned midway in your writing,
A loin frayed while cloaking my mother’s body,
A destination you have long forgotten,
I — Ansukali
Khumchiyadhura
Bikulek!

I am the Draupadi of Kaliyug
Made a victim to your vulture eyes
And fallen on your mantelpiece
Wondering if there still is a trace of compassion
A bit of nationality
And some degree of self-respect left on earth!
Raped, sometimes from the top
And some other time from the bottom
I am Lipulek, Limpiyadhura, Kalapani
And I am Susta
Hewed, bit by bit, in a slow pace.
I had come to see if you have nightmares
When every night, I am stripped all naked;
Had come to feel
How magnanimous your heart is
Had come to measure
How high your head is
When, I never knew—
I was destined to return
Having laid my eyes on nothing
But a torso.

Trans: Mahesh Paudyal
[Amrita Smriti is pursuing her MA in English from Tribhuvan University. She is a published author with two collections of poems to her credit. Also a literary activist, she is the founder/chairperson of Srashtha Pratishthan Nepal, a literary organization. ]