~Dutendra Chamling~
Translation: Mahesh Paudyal ‘Prarambha’
As children,
we marveled at the flights of Demossile Cranes
flying hither
from across the Koshi
crooning melodies of their heart.
filed in a line like a wreathe
Before long,
they would dart away
Mother would then, tell us—
towards the mountains in Tyamké
across the hills of Urleni.
in small caverns along the walls
‘Kids! It’s time, we should be sowing cucumber.”
See would then look for seeds
poles at our backyards would be lush
and in pouches, bound into knots
and stored safely in clay goglets.
In a few weeks,
with juvenile cucumbers
hanging like a madal.
>My son, yesterday, beseeched me
to bring home a cucumber;
I, however returned home empty
from Ratnapark, the cherished field of the jobless.
but I thought hard and consoled myself, ‘No crane ever flies
My wife reprimanded me
over the skies in Kathmandu.’
sowed when no cranes were flying
And that gave an exit—
‘Honey; we shouldn’t be eating cucumbers
in the sky.’
Madal: an elongated drum, typically Nepali
March 31, 2015
(स्रोत : Dutendra’s Blog )
