Geeta Pantha
These days, peace holds a sit-in protest at Swayambhoo[1]
and Buddha doesn’t open his eyes; no!
Where is the country?
A soiled shadow appears on the map, and blood-stained are the borderlines
The mountain pukes its rage,
mute is the soil this moment—
premonition for an upcoming catastrophe?
The nation aches.
Patriotism—a mere, exaggerated game!
Lined up are the worthy heirs, passports in their hands.
In the dark, many secret files have been exchanged;
who will draft a new constitution?
No one can tell how long
the flag shall flutter.
Citizenship lies senseless.
[Geeta Pantha is a Nepali poet based in America.]
[1] A shrine of Buddha in Kathmandu