~Bishwa Sigdel~
1. Happiness with myriad arms could fly to me
on the wings of the wind,
from where I left it,
at a fork in the road.
Instead, I lifted Sorrow,
waiting at the fork of two roads, with amputated, mutilated limbs, into the
crook of an arm.
Sorrow,
that wanted to fasten herself to children, widows and the old.
2. I left Happiness,
glowing with transparent light,
fed by eternal springs…midstream…
for it could fly to me on the wings of the waters.
Instead,
I carried Sorrow.
For had I left her,
she would have waited on the banks,
setting traps for fertile fields.
3. I left myself in tender hands,
as a torch of wheat stalks,
aid to cross rivers, trudge gorges,
and follow stony paths.
It sings the melody of radiance
and streams forth ashes,
enriching the soil.
4. I left myself in soft lips,
closed fists,
strong chests
and warm grips…
I left myself.
(Source : Grey Sparrow Journal – Issue 30, July 31, 2017)
