Gobardhan Pooj
Why doesn’t the sun set,
why does the night linger?
With the warrant-letter of parting in hand
I ask the slithering time—
why doesn’t the earth rotate
towards the cross-road
where meeting occurs?
Ravenous is the sea
I have grown thirstier, drinking from it;
forlorn is the sky
I have grown more destitute, seeing it
I am crushed, day in and day out
by mountains of loathing;
I am ground, crushed every moment
on the anvil of desires.
As I recall my dreams that are balms of love
I muse—
Why doesn’t the tip of Rocky Mountain jut out
to touch Mt. Everest?
Why doesn’t the ocean shrink
and become Gandaki or Karnali?
Why can’t the maple leaves that croon a death cadence
whistle gaily like sal leaves?
Why can’t the roosters sit on rooftops
and hail the approaching morn?
Life, captivated in a glass-jar
awaits for a musical death;
mind has grown unattended
like snow-laden tendrils that sag underneath the roof.
Snow smoulders some
while others are stung by light
time’s like two faces of a coin
that caters joyous meeting to some
and foists chilly parting to others
like Tara Devi’s song—
sochejasto hunna jeevan
samjhejasto hunna jeevan
jasto bhogyo ustai hunchha
khojejasto hunna jeevan!
[Poet and lyricist Govardhan Pooja is the Senior Vice President of International Nepali Literary Society. He lives in Boston, USA.]