~Bhupi Sherchan~
Translated by Yuyutsu Sharma
O unfortunate children
of partridges, quails and sacrificial buffaloes,
be it the German attack,
Burma’s turbulent borders,
the rubber forests of Malaya,
Nefa’s or Ladakh’s battlefields of fire,
O unlucky
illustrious scapegoats
who lost their lives
without a cause in lands foreign,
like a partridge,
a quail or a bull
provoked by others
to spurt into a murderous motion
cheered by claps
triggered not from within,
drowsed by wines
gifted to quell qualms of conscience,
leaped into battlefields
shrieking, Ayo Gorkhali!
howling the advent of
senseless bulls on the altars of injustice
O unfortunate widows celebrating
your son’s birthdays with the pension of these very soldiers
O old parents invoking
the charms of eighty-four gods from the magic
of their blood-soaked earning
O gallants glowing from
the warmth of your late friend’s jersey,
wooing Soltee in the Rodi,
O brides on the fresh nuptial wagons
flushed with the glow of nose rings
and bangles gifted by the dead heroes,
greatly shimmer on your chests
these Padamvira Chakaras and Victoria Crosses.
But doesn’t ever from
these medals come a corpse’s festering stench,
the stench
of your own butchered dreams?
(Source : Drunkenboat.com)
