~N. B. Ghimirey~
Translated By: Denuka Rai
Where the days begin with bombs,
Night bid in bullets.
Where the sun rises – American,
Moon rises – Russian.
I am Syria speaking,
I am Syria crying.
My hands are their weapons,
My feet their vehicle.
My nose their position taking place,
My heart their target.
Yes, I am Syria speaking,
I am Syria crying.
I am five year old child,
Mom, I don’t know America.
I am an old man more than 84years,
I don’t understand politics, grandson.
I am a pregnant women of 8/9 month,
I can’t run, I can’t run away.
I don’t understand terrorism, husdand,
I don’t understand terrorism.
Oh! world,
I am Syria speaking
I am Syria crying.
Some are killing their thirst with my tears.
Some are playing Holi with my blood.
I recognize soil of my father.
I recognize soil of my mother.
I am Syria speaking,
I am Syria crying.
I have become dumb having mouth.
I have become lame having limbs.
Somebody snatching heart
and like, a compelled country
pulling own heart like in try of war.
I am Syria coughing
Digesting chemical
Boiling bombs
Making garland of bullet
I am Syria speaking
I am Syria crying.
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(Translated from Nepali poem called “Mah Syria Boldai Chu” written by N.B. Ghimirey)
(Source : Sent from ‘नयाँ रचना पठाउनुहोस्’ of Sahitya Sangrahalaya. )
आन्तरिक हृदयबाट नै।
आन्तरिक हृदयबाट नै धन्यवाद छ।
तपाईंका अन्य रचनाहरु पनि पठाउनु हुनेछ भन्ने आशा लिएका छौं ।
– साहित्य सङ्ग्रहालय