This collection features ten Nepali poems thoughtfully translated into English, providing a literary bridge for poetry enthusiasts worldwide. The verses, carefully chosen for their cultural richness and artistic merit, offer a glimpse into the diverse and vibrant world of Nepali poetry. Each translation aims to capture the essence of the original work, allowing readers to appreciate the beauty, themes, and nuances that characterize Nepali poeticexpression. Whether exploring themes of love, identity, or societal reflections, these poems serve as a window into the cultural tapestry of Nepal, inviting global readers to connect with and appreciate the poetic heritage of this Himalayan nation.
पिंजडाको सुगाLekhnath Paudyal बालक बबुरो दिजशुक नाम हुँ म परेको छु पिंजडामा मकन हरे शिव शान्ति र चैन सपना बिच पनि रति भर छैन मेरा बान्धव बाबु र आमा बस्छन वनका एक कुनामा को सित पोखुँ मनको ताप गर्दै पिजडा बाट बिलाप अंशु बगाई कहिले रुन्छु कहिले मुर्दा तुल्य म हुन्छु कहिले पागल सरि उफ्रन्छु केवल वनका सुख सम्झन्छु फलफुल खाइ नित्य रमाई वनमा फिर्ने बबुरो लाई विधिले पार्यो पिजडा भित्र कर्म हरे शिव हुन्छ बिचित्र वरी परी बैरीहरु छन् सारा छैन कतै तिर कोही सहारा के गरु कसरी उम्की जाऊँ को सित मन को दर्द बिसाऊँ पिजडा फोडु भनिकन चुच्चो बल संग धस्दा भो सब बुच्चो बेसरी कुजिए पक्ष्य र पाऊँ कसरि अब हा काल बिताऊँ यो कस्तो हो कसरि आयो बसी कन पिंजडा बिच के खायो यो सब बुझ्ने कोहि छैन हाय यसैले मन रहदैन सुस्खा छ घटी बन्धन चर्को बोल्नै पर्ने झर्को अर्को बोलेन भने लाठी उजाई हुन्छ तयारी पिट्न लाई यौटा भन्दछ यो हो पाजी आर्को भन्दछ यो छ बिराजी भन्द छ तेस्रो आत्मा राम पढो पढो जी राखो नाम गुडको बैरी मनुष जाति सूश्क गराई गुणीका छाती प्राण पखेरु नलिए सम्म खुश किन हुन्थ्यो हाय अचम्म पृथिबी तलमा एउटा सम्म मानिस बाँकि रहंदा सम्म तुच्छ सुगाको जन्म नदेऊ दीन दयालु बिन्ती लेऊ! |
A Parrot in a CageA pitiful, twice-born child called parrot, I have been trapped in a cage, Even in my dreams, Lord Shiva, I find not a grain of peace or rest. My brothers, my mother and father, Dwell in a far forest corner, To whom can I pour out my anguish, Lamenting from this cage? Sometimes I weep and shed my tears, Sometimes I am like a corpse, Sometimes I leap about, insane, Remembering forest joys. This poor thing which wandered the glades And ate wild fruits of daily delight Has been thrust by Fate into a cage; Destiny, Lord, is strange! All about me I see only foes, Nowhere can I find a friend, What can I do, how shall I escape, To whom can I unburden my heart? Sometimes it's cold, sometimes the sun shines, Sometimes I prattle, sometimes I am still, I am ruled by the fancies of children, My fortune is constant change. For my food I have only third-class rice, And that does not fill me by half, I cast a glance at my water pot: Such comforts! That, too, is dry! Hoarse my voice, tiresome these bonds, To have to speak is further torment, But if I refuse to utter a word, A stick is brandished, ready to beat me. One says, "It is a stupid ass!" Another cries, "See, it refuses to speak!" A third wants me to utter God's name: "Atma Ram, speak, speak, say the name!" Fate, you gave my life to this constraint, You gave me a voice I am forced to use, But you gave me only half my needs; Fate, you are all compassion! And you gave me faculties both Of melodious speech and discerning taste, But what do these obtain for me, save Confinement, abuse, constant threats? Jailing me, distressing me, Are the curious sports Man plays, What heinous crimes these are, Deliver me, thou God of pity. Humanity is all virtue's foe, Exploiting the good till their hearts are dry, Why should Man ever be content Till winged breath itself is snatched away? While a single man on this earth remains, Until all men have vanished, Do not let poor parrots be born, Oh Lord, please hear my prayer! |
कविताको व्याप्तीबालकृष्ण सम एक साधु ठूलो डालो लिएर कविता बटुल्न वनतिर लाग्यो, डाँडाकाँडा, खोलानाला, लेकबेँसी सबैतिर दौड्यो, छाँगोपाँगो, फलफूल, सागपात जताजतै कति खोज्यो, कतै पाएन, उसले ठान्यो- कवितासविताको ऋतु त्यो हैन रहेछ; हताश भई फर्कन लागेको उसलाई एक रसिकले भेट्यो । प्रश्न सुनिसकी रसिक बोल्यो- “कहाँ छ जहाँ कविता छैन, शुष्क आँखाले हेर्यो भने त छैन त त्यै झरना पनि नीरस छ, त्यो रौँझैँ जोबन झरिरहेको शून्यमात्रको उद्घोष छ, क्यै पछि पानी सब निख्रन्छ र त्यो पाखो खल्वाट हुन्छ ! तर साधु, अनुरागले आफ्नो छाती लिपिहरे, ठाँटो जमीकन सम्म भएको रक्त-हृदयको सतहमाथि दुःखी संसारको चोट एकत्रित पारी उच्छ्वासले शक्ति प्रहार गर, अनि अनुभूतको छाल उठाई मस्तकसम्मन् छिटा पठाऊ, आँखा जलजल रसिलो भएपछि सबै नियाली हेर, सहानुभूतिले नानीलाई सूक्ष्मदर्शक पार, अनि त ढुङ्गाका नसा-नसामा पनि रगत चलिरहेको देख्छौ, पत्थरको मुटु छाम्न सक्दछौ, अनि पहराले रस बहाउँछ, तिमी बविता पाउँछा ! यति भनेर घामको मइनझैं रसिक लत्याकलुतुक भै पग्ल्यो, साधुको आँखा पनि पग्ल्यो, रूखहरू खोटोझैं पग्ले, फलफूल महझैं पग्ले, हरिया फाँट पोखरीझैं पग्ले, समस्त ब्रह्माण्ड हिउँझैं पग्ल्यो, आकाशगंगा भै पग्ल्यो, ताराहरू सारा जलबिन्दु बने, साधुले आफूलाई आफैँ जत्रो आँसुको एक थोपो पाएँ, अनि दिग्दिगन्त विश्वभरि नै अणु-अणुको गर्भान्तरमा उनले प्रलय घनघोर गर्जनमा ओतप्रोत भएर कविता उर्लिरहेको पाएँ । |
Aall-Pervading PoetryPicking up a huge basket, a holy man ventured out to the forest to gather poetry. Through hills and streams, pastures and fields, he searched every waterfall, fruit and bush, but nowhere could he find it, so he decided such things were out of season, at a loss he had set off home when he came upon an aesthete. To his enquiry this man replied, "Is poetry not everywhere? If you look at those falls through prosaic eyes, even they will be dry, just declaring the void left by the hair which falls out as youth passes; but what could dry up these waters, or make this hillside bald? "Holy man, look with redoubled love at the heart's smooth surface where foaming blood gathers; gather up all this sad world's blows, attack with a powerful breath; lift waves of experience to your head, scatter pure drops till your eyes are wet, make your vision subtle with sympathy, look closely: you will see the blood which runs through the veins of these rocks, you will touch the hearts of stones, the cliffs will shower nectar, you will have poetry to drink!" With this the aesthete faded away, melting like beeswax in the sun, and the holy man's eyes softened too. The trees melted like resin, the fruits like honey, the green fields dissolved into lakes, the whole world thawed like snow, the sky dissolved to become the Ganga, the stars were all droplets of water. And then the holy man knew he meant no more than a teardrop; throughout the world, in each atom's womb, pervading destruction's terrible sound, he found poetry surging forth. |
पागललक्ष्मी प्रसाद देवकोटा जरुर साथी म पागल ! यस्तै छ मेरो हाल । म शब्दलाई देख्दछु ! दृश्यलाई सुन्दछु ! बासनालाई संबाद लिन्छु । आकाशभन्दा पातालका कुरालाई छुन्छु । ती कुरा, जसको अस्तित्व लोक मान्दैंन जसको आकार संसार जान्दैन ! म देख्दछु, ढुङ्गालाई फूल ! जब, जलकिनारका जल चिप्ला ती, कोमलाकार, पाषाण, चाँदनीमा, स्वर्गकी जादूगर्नी मतिर हाँस्दा, पत्रिएर, नर्मिएर, झल्किएर, बल्किएर, उठ्दछन् मूक पागलझैँ, फूलझैँ- एक किसिमका चकोर फूल ! म बोल्दछु तिनसँग, जस्तो बोल्दछन् ती मसँग एक भाषा, साथी ! जो लेखिन्न, छापिन्न, बोलिन्न, बुझाइन्न, सुनाइन्न । जुनेली गङ्गा-किनार छाल आउँछ तिनको भाषा साथी ! छाल छाल ! जरुर साथी म पागल ! यस्तै छ मेरो हाल ! तिमी चतुर छौ, वाचाल ! तिम्रो शुद्ध गणित सूत्र हरहमेशा चलिरहेको छ मेरो गणितमा एकबाट एक झिके एकै बाँकी रहन्छ ! तिमी पाँच इन्द्रियले काम गर्छौ, म छैटौँले ! तिम्रो गिदी छ साथी ! मेरो मुटु । तिमी गुलाफलाई गुलाफ सिवाय देख्न सक्तैनौ, म उसमा हेलेन र पद्मिनी पाउँछु, तिमी बलिया गद्य छौ ! म तरल पद्य छु ! तिमी जम्दछौ जब म पग्लन्छु, तिमी सँग्लन्छौ जब म धमिलो बन्छु, र ठीक त्यसैका उल्टो ! तिम्रो संसार ठोस छ । मेरो बाफ ! तिम्रो बाक्लो, मेरो पातलो ! तिमी ढुङ्गालाई वस्तु ठान्दछौ, ठोस कठोरता तिम्रो यथार्थ छ । म सपनालाई समात्न खोज्दछु, जस्तो तिमी, त्यो चिसो, मीठो अक्षर काटेको पान्ढीकीको बाटुलो सत्यलाई ! मेरो छ वेग काँडाको साथी ! तिम्रो सुनको र हीराको ! तिमी पहाडलाई लाटा भन्दछौ, म भन्छु वाचाल । जरुर साथी । मेरो एक नशा ढिलो छ । यस्तै छ मेरो हाल ! |
MadSurely, my friend, I am mad, that's exactly what I am! I see sounds, hear sights, taste smells, I touch things thinner than air, things whose existence the world denies, things whose shapes the world does not know. Stones I see as flowers, pebbles have soft shapes, water-smoothed at the water's edge in the moonlight; as heaven's sorceress smiles at me, they put out leaves, they soften, they glimmer and pulse, rising up like mute maniacs, like flowers—a kind of moonbird flower. I speak to them just as they speak to me, in a language, my friend, unwritten, unprinted, unspoken, uncomprehended, unheard. Their speech comes in ripples, my friend, to the moonlit Ganga's shore. Surely, my friend, I am mad, that's exactly what I am! You are clever, and wordy, your calculations exact and correct forever, but take one from one in my arithmetic, and you are still left with one. You use five senses, but I have six, you have a brain, my friend, but I have a heart. To you a rose is a rose, and nothing more, but I see Helen and Padmini, you are forceful prose, I am liquid poetry; you freeze as I am melting, you clear as I cloud over, and then it's the other way around; your world is solid, mine vapor, your world is gross, mine subtle, you consider a stone an object, material hardness is your reality, but I try to grasp hold of dreams, just as you try to catch the rounded truths of cold, sweet, graven coins. My passion is that of a thorn, my friend, yours is for gold and diamonds, you say that the hills are deaf and dumb, I say that they are eloquent. Surely, my friend, mine is a loose inebriation, that's exactly how I am. |
बा आउनुएको छैनसिद्दिचरण श्रेष्ठ पानी परिरहेछ, हावा चलिरहेछ, समयले अबेर ओढिसक्यो, बत्ती बलिसक्यो, भात पाकिसक्यो, आमा कराउनुभइरहेछ- बा आउनुभएको छैन । युग बदलिइसक्यो, राणा ढलिसक्यो, भन्दछ जन्जिर टुटिसक्यो अझ पनि आजादी आएको छैन प्रगति आएको छैन, प्रजातन्त्र आएको छैन, आमा कराउनुभइरहेछ- बा आउनुभएको छैन । हाम्रो विचारको घुयँत्रोले हाम्रो कल्पनाको वज्रले अन्धकारको टाउको फुटिसक्यो अझ पनि नयाँ बेहान आएको छैन नयाँ युग आएको छैन आमा कराउनुभइरहेछ- ‘बा आउनुभएको छैन ।’ |
Father has Not Come HomeThe rain is falling, the wind is blowing, Time has donned her garb of lateness, the lamps are lit, a meal is cooked. A woman is crying out, "Father has not come home." Times have changed, the Ranas have sunk, they say our chains are broken, but freedom, progress, democracy, none of these has come. A woman is crying out, "Father has not come home." The slings of our thought, the thunderbolts of our dream, have smashed the skull of darkness, but a new dawn, a new age, a new day, none of these has dawned. A woman is crying out, "Father has not come home." |
मातेको मान्छेको भाषण: मध्यरातपछिको सडकसितबैरागी काईंला – आधारातपछि रक्सी दोकानबाट म के निस्किएको छु : प्रत्येक खोंगी र खोरभित्रबाट पखेटा फट्फटाउँदै विद्रोहको कुखुराका भाले बासेर मेरो स्वागत गर्दछन्, यहाँको बातावरणको निम्ति यहाँको निर्जीवताको निम्ति यहाँको व्यवस्थाको निम्ति मेरो रक्सीको गन्धले भिजेको निश्वास पनि आज, ठुलो आँधीसरह भइसकेको छ सडकका दुवैतिर लाम लागेका यी आलिशान भवनहरू आफ्नो जगसहित आफ्नो कमजोरि माटोमुनि गाडिदिनु अब, अब, अब लड्नलाई तयार छ, आज मेरो प्रत्येक पाइलामा यौटा-यौटा भूकम्प छ आज मेरो प्रत्येक अनुभवमा यौटा-यौटा ज्वालामुखी पड्कन तैयार छ कसरी बसेछु यो उमेरसम्म यौटा पाइलासम्म पनि नअटाउने ढल्न लागेका यी साँगुरा घरहरूमा ? मलाई दुःख लाग्छ : अझै सुत्छन् गनाउलाझै गुजुल्टिएर आत्म-पराजित मानिसहरू धरतीको अस्वस्थ्यकर घरहरूमा, अनि यति अबेरसम्म ? आज मेरो विशाल्ता पृथ्वीमाथि अटाउदैन यो सडकभरिको देशमाथि सास थुन्छ अनि मैले सडकभरि आँदाखाँद गरेर हिड्दा मानिस भन्छन्- यो मातेको छ ।, छेउ लागेर बाँयापट्ट हिंड्नु पर्छ हो हामीले छेउ लागेर हिंडनु पर्छ धेरैले सडकमाथि अटाएर हिंड्नु पर्छ, गगनचुम्बी भवन र धरहराका सिरान-सिरानका कोठाभित्र रात-रातभरि बल्दछन्…….नीलो-नीलो गुलुप : लाटकोकोसेराका आाखाहरू, यहाँ रातभरि लाटकोसेराले आँखा देख्दछन, यहाँ रातभरि लाटकोसेराले कसकसको बाटो ढुक्छ ? टाउकोभरि अफिसको कागजपत्रका अक्षर, छातिभरि अफिसको दिवाल घडीका काँटाहरू फेरिनै आटेका पूर्जाजस्ता जिन्दगी काँधमाथि टाउको लतारेर यो सडकमाथि हिंडदछन्, यिनलाई घिसारेर हिंडदछन् अनुहार नभएका मानिस, अँध्यारोका खुट्टाले टेकेर रात-रातभरि यो सडकमाथि ! फलतः आजकाल सडक घटेको छ, कसले चोर्दछ सडकका छेउकुनाहरू ? किन घट्दछन यो सडक प्रत्येक रातको आगमनसित ? यो सडकलाई उधारेर फेरि ठुलो पार ………… जब म भन्छु, छेउको मुर्ख पुलिस मलाई पक्रन तयार छ किनकी म मातेको छु ! अनि रक्सीले छात्ति भरेपछि मलाई पनि लाग्छ कि मभित्र यत्ति विशालता आइसक्यो, कि यो सडकको संकीर्णतामा अब अब नअटाउने भइसकेको छु ! इन्जिनियरले सुनुन् नेता, प्रध्यापक र कविहरूले सुनुन् इतिहासको प्रत्येक आन्दोलनले सुनुन् यसर्थ, पोष्ट अफिसको पेटीबाट म वक्तव्य प्रसारित गर्दछु : ए सडक हो ! यौटा मानिस तिमीमाथि हिंडदै छ, म अटाइना तिम्रो फैलावटमा थसर्थ, म हुकुम गर्दछु ….. अझै तिमीहरू-फट्टिदेऊ, च्यात्तिदेऊ, फैलिदेऊ…… तिम्रो फैलावटको सीमामाथि अतिक्रमण गर्ने प्रतिक्षण इतिहास बनिरहेका क्षणसित यी ठूलठूला बिल्डिङका पेटीहरू मात्र कोतपर्वका विजेताका मात्र शासन गर्ने परिवारका प्रशस्ति र वंशावली लेखिएका इतिहासका इतिहास नाङ्गा पन्ना जस्ता यी पेटीहरूलाई मुटुदेखि मस्तिष्कसम्म चिरिने गरेर तिमीले च्यात्तिदेऊ……..फाट्टिदेउ…… कोलम्बसको पैतालाले यस सडकमाथि टेक्न पाउनु पर्छ । यौटा विद्रोहले यहाँ शिर उचालेर हिंड्न पाउनु पर्छ, यसर्थ, म हुकुम गर्दछु : ए सडक हो ! अझै च्यात्तिदेऊ…….अझै फाट्टिऊ…. जति खाडल बन्दछ त्यत्ति नै रक्सीको तरलताले भिजाएर म, मेरो सद्भावनाले रसाइदिन्छु म मेरो विशाल्ताले ढाकिदिन्छु नत्र ता म यहाँ अटाउनै सकिनँ, नत्र ता बिहान नौ बजे स्कूलको बखत सानो बालकलाई उसको आमा र मैले कसरी स्कूल पुर्याउनु यहाँबाट जहाँ अटाउदैन यौटा खुट्टाको पनि पैतालाको फैलावट ! सयौ बूटले प्रतिक्षण किच्चिएर मोटरका चक्काले प्रतिक्षण पिल्सिएर लम्पसार र उत्तानो परिसकेका ए जिन्दागी हो ! निष्क्रियताको हुस्सुले थुनिएर साइनबोर्डका खम्बाले सीमित घुम्तिघुम्तिले टुक्राटुक्रा खण्डित चक्रवर्तीको चोइटिएका पराक्रमको सहस्र चोइटा…… ए सडक हो ! अश्वमेध यज्ञका घोडा खेदेर विश्वविजयमा बढेका सगरका ए शापित सहस्रदश पुत्र हो ! आकाशबाट बोतलको स्वर्गङ्गाको जल भगीरथको आस्थाले छर्किहेछु तिमीमाथि, तिम्रो निधारमाथि, आँखामाथि, छात्तिमाथि ! यो जो बगाइरहेछु बोतलका बोतल…. रक्सी सडकमाथि, थोपाथोपा पिएर उठ, उठ बौरिएर ए मेरा पिताहरू हो ! ए सगरका शापित सहस्रदश पुत्र हो ! अनि एस पल्ट हिमालजत्रो मुठीले क्षितिजका गहबाट कचेराको कुइरो पुछेर मसित हेरिदेऊ…….प्रथमपल्ट : आँखाले भ्याउञ्जेलसम्म हामी हाम्रो चारैतिर विजयका निम्ति युद्धभूमी र जिन्दगीका निम्ति उज्यालै उज्यालोमात्र देख्दछौं ! |
A Drunk Man's Speech to the Street After MidnightWhen I emerge from the wine shop, long after midnight has passed, cockerels crow their welcome from every coop and perch, flapping their wings in rebellion. My very breath, drenched in alcohol fumes, is a great storm in this atmosphere, this lifelessness, this system. Grand mansions line the street, weakness hides in their foundations: now now now—they will soon collapse! All my steps are earthquakes today, volcanoes erupt in each sensation; how have I lived to such an age in these cramped and crumbling houses, too small for a single stride? I am saddened: even now they sleep, self-defeated men, tangled together like worms in the pestilent houses of the earth, and do they sleep so late? Today I am more immense than the world, my breath is shut in by the ground of this street, I stamp all over the road. People say I am drunk—"Keep left"— people say we should keep to the verge, but people should walk all over this street, as many as it can contain, the police pick up all who keep to the verge, saying, "This one's drunk, and that one, too!" At the head of each bed in the rooms of sky-kissing mansion and tower, all through each night they burn: blue, blue bulbs, the eyes of owls. Here the owls' eyes watch through the night: who are they waiting for, who will be ambushed? Faceless men drag by on legs of darkness, all night long they walk this street, their heads hanging low from their shoulders, their heads full of letters and papers, their hearts full of the office clock's hands, their lives machine parts, soon obsolete. And so the street is shrunken today: who steals its corners and verges? Who tears life in chunks from its sides? Why is the street more narrow each night? "Tear up this road and widen it!..." The witless policeman stands on the curb, prepared to arrest me for these words, for I am drunk! But when the wine pervades my heart, I feel I am full of such vastness, the street is too narrow for me. May the engineers hear me, the leaders, the teachers, the poets, may each second of history attend to my speech, broadcast from the pavement beside the main post office: Streets! A man walks upon you, he is too great for you, he commands you: crack and split and widen yourselves, rupture and tear down those buildings which encroach upon your borders, further, further with each historic moment, rend and crack the pavements: they are like history's naked pages, inscribed with flattering lineages of the Kotparva's victors and the ruling family; split them from head to heart. We should be allowed to stand here on the feet of Columbus, a revolution should walk here, its head held high. So I order you: Streets! Crack and tear yourselves apart, if potholes appear, I will fill them with goodwill soaked in wine, I will cover them with my immensity. For otherwise I will not fit in, otherwise, at nine 'o'clock, when it's time for school, how will the little boy's mother and I send him to school from this place if the road cannot hold the sole of one foot? Oh life, already flat on your back, constantly trampled by hundreds of boots, continually tortured by the wheels of cars, oh streets, confined by the mists of inertia, bounded by signboards and poles, fragmented and fractured by turnings and bends —a thousand splinters of the valor of the universal emperor. Oh sixty thousand cursed sons of Sagar, advancing to conquer the world, driving a horse to sacrifice, I pour the heavenly Ganga's waters from the firmament of a bottle, down over you with the faith of Bhagirath, onto your foreheads, eyes and chests. Drink this wine which I pour on the street, bottle by bottle, drop after drop, revive and arise, my fathers, you sixty thousand cursed sons of Sagar! And now wipe the mist with a Himalayan fist, from the horizon's gummy eyes, and look with me for the first time: as far as we can see, all around, there is a battleground for victory and a radiant light for life. |
घुम्ने मेच माथि अन्धो मान्छेभुपी सेरचन दिनभरि सुकेको बाँसझैँ आफ्नो खोक्रोपनमाथि उँघेर, पछुताएर, दिनभरि रोगी मलेवाझैँ आफ्नो छाती आफ्नै चुच्चोले ठुँगेर, घाउहरु कोट्ट्याएर, दिनभरि सल्लाघारीझैँ एकलासमा अव्यक्त वेदनाले सुँक्क सुँक्क रोएर, दिनभरि पाते च्याउझैँ धरती र आकाशको विशालतादेखि टाढा एउटा सानो ठाउँमा आफ्नो खुट्टा गाडेर, एउटा सानो छाताले आफूलाइ ढाकेर, साँझमा जब नेपाल खुम्चिएर काठमान्डौ काठमान्डौ डल्लिएर नया सडक र नयाँ सडक असङ्ख्य मानिसका पाउमुनि कुल्चिएर, टुक्रिएर, अखबार चिया र पान को पसल बन्छ, किसिम किसिमका पोशाकमा ओहोर दोहोर गर्छन्? थरिथरिका हल्लाहरु, फुल पारेको कुखुराझैँ कराउदै हिँड्छन अखबारहरु र ठाउँ ठाउँमा अन्धकार पेटिमा उक्लिन्छ मोटरहरुको प्रकाशदेखि तर्सेर, अनि असंख्य मौरीको भुनभुन र डदाइदेखि आत्तिएर म उठ्छु न्यायको दिनमा प्रेतात्माहरु उठेझैँ र नपाएर बिस्मृतिको ‘लेथे’ नदी, रक्सीको गिलासमा हामफाल्छु र बिर्सन्छु आफ्नो पूर्वकथालाई पूर्वजुनी र मृत्युलाई यसरी नै सधैँ चियाको किटलिबाट एउटा सूर्य उदाउँछ सधै रक्सीको रित्तो गिलासमा एउटा सूर्य अस्ताउँछ घुमिरहेकै छ म बसेको पृथ्वी —पूर्ववत् फगत म अपरिचित छु वरिपरिका परिवर्तनहरुदेखि, दृश्यहरुदेखि, रमाइलोदेखि, प्रदर्शनीको घुम्ने मेचमाथि करले बसेको अन्धो जस्तै । |
A Blind Man on a Revolving ChairDozing and regretting all day long, like a withered bamboo lamenting its hollowness, opening wounds all day long, like a sick dove which pecks at its breast; weeping softly all day long, over sorrows which are unspoken, like a pine forest in its solitude, my feet are set in a tiny space, sheltered by a mushroom umbrella, far from the vastness of earth and sky. In the evening, when Nepal shrinks down to Kathmandu, and Kathmandu shrinks to New Road,which breaks up, trampled by countless feet, to newspapers, tea shops, paan shops, various rumors come and go, each in a different guise, newspapers pass by, clucking like hens, and here and there the darkness climbs onto the sidewalk, terrified by the headlights of the cars. The hive in my brain collapses, I stand up, alarmed by stinging, buzzing bees beyond number; I rise like a soul on Judgment Day, but I do not find the Lethe,I river of oblivion, so I slide down into some wine to forget the past, my previous lives and deaths. The sun always rises from the kettle, and sets in an empty glass, the earth I inhabit goes on turning, I am the only one who cannot see the changes all around me, the only one who is unaware of all this world's beauty and pleasure, like a blind man at an exhibition, forced to sit on a revolving chair. |
हल्लै हल्लाको देशभुपी सेरचन यो हल्लै हल्लाको देश हो कानमा इयरफोन लगाउनु पर्ने बहिराहरु जहाँ संगीत प्रतियोगिताका जज हुन्छन् र जहाँ आत्मामा पत्थर परेकाहरु काव्यका निर्णायक मानिन्छन्, काठका खुट्टाहरु जहाँ रेसमा बिजेता हुन्छन् र जहाँ प्लाष्टर गरिएका हातहरुमा सुरक्षाको सङ्गीन थमाइन्छ, जहाँ बाटो र अट्टालिकाहरुका ढोकाअगाडि डोकोका डोको, र खर्पनका खर्पन, ट्रकका ट्रक आत्माका मण्डी सजाइन्छ, स्टक एक्सचेन्जका शेयरजस्तै आत्मा क्रय-बिक्रय गर्न सक्नेहरु जहाँ नेता हुन्छन् र जहाँ निधारभरि कर्कटपाताजस्तै चाउरी परिसकेकाहरु तन्नेरीहरुका अगुवा हुन्छन् जहाँ जतिसुकै व्यभिचारीको पनि इज्जतको ‘वाश एन वियर क्रीज’ कहिल्यै बिग्रिन्न, जहाँ जतिसुकै/पाप गरेको वेश्याको पनि अनुहारको टेरेलिनको छाला कहिल्यै खुम्चिन्न, जहाँ कृषि-मेलाहरुमा दोब्बर उब्जनी हुने बीउहरुको प्रदर्शनी गरिन्छ र जहाँ खडेरी र अनिकालका सम्चारले भरिन्छ, जहाँ वाग्मती र विष्णुमतीका साटोमा अब बीयर र ह्विस्की बग्दछन्, र जहाँ अब पशुपतिनाथ र स्वयम्भूनाथका मन्दिरको उपयोग तिनका प्रसाद खानमा कम, र तिनका पछाडिका बनहरुमा आडम र इभको ‘वर्जित फल’ खानमा बर्ता गरिन्छ, जहाँ चिनीको कारखानाले चिनी होइन, रक्सी मात्र बनाउँछ र जहाँका स्वतन्त्र आमाहरुले छोरा होइन लाहुरे मात्र जन्माउँछन् जहाँ रिन तिर्नको लागि महाकविले असमयमै मर्नुपर्दछ, जहाँ स्वदेशको पीरले बहुलाएको कविले विदेशी अस्पतालको शरण पर्नुपर्दछ, र जहाँ सरस्वतीकी एक्ली छोरीले बिनाउपचार बैंसमै कुँजिएर जीवन बिताउनुपर्दछ, जहाँ गाइडले टुरिष्टलाई नेपालको बिदेशलाई देन सम्झाउँछ र बिदाको बेलामा उससित उसको विदेशी क्यामराको देन माग्दछ, जहाँ तन्नेरीहरु किल्ला काँगडा र नालापानीको गीत गाउँदै अब कवाज खेल्छन् टाई र कोटको कलरमा खुकुरी भिरेर यो देशमा मलाई भन्न कर लाग्छ आफ्नो मुटु चिरेर कि ए मेरो देशवासीहरु हो ए मेरो देशका राष्ट्र-कविहरु हो ए मेरा देशका सम्माननीय नेताहरु हो भन्न मन लाग्छ भने भन मलाई स्वदेशनिन्दक वा घृणाचिन्तक तर यो देश तिम्रो जत्तिकै मेरो पनि देश हो अंशबण्डा गर्ने हो भने पनि यो देशका एक करोड टुक्राहरुमध्ये एउटा टुक्रामाथि मेरो पनि छाप्रो हुनेछ यही भावनाले मलाई यो भन्न बाध्य गराउँछ र आँट दिलाउँछ यो भन्न कि ‘यो हल्लै हल्लाको देश हो’ खनेर हेर्ने हो भने यहाँका प्रत्येक घरहरुका जगमा त्यहाँ फगत हल्लै हल्ला थुप्रिएको पाइनेछ। त्यसैले यो हल्लै हल्लाको देश हो यो हल्लै हल्लामाथि उभिएको देश हो यो हल्लै हल्लामाथि उठेको देश हो यो हल्लै हल्लाको देश हो। |
This is a Land of Uproar and RumorThis is a land of uproar and rumor, where deaf men wearing hearing aids are judges at musical contests; and those whose souls are full of stones are connoisseurs of poetry; where wooden legs win races, and bayonets of defense are held by plastered hands; where, basket upon basket, truckload after truckload, souls are offered for sale along the roads, in front of doors; where the leaders are those who can trade in souls, like shares on a stock exchange; where the men who presume to lead our youth on have faces wrinkled like roofing steel; where the "wash and wear" creases of honor are never spoiled by any malpractice, and even the prostitute's terylene skin cannot crease, whatever her crime; where seeds which double production are displayed at farmers' fairs which fill with news of drought and famine; where beer and whisky flow instead of sacred rivers and people come to our holiest shrines less to receive the food of the gods, more to consume the forbidden fruits of Adam and Eve in the gardens behind; where the sugar factory makes booze, not sugar, and mothers of freedom give birth to soldiers instead of sons; where the great poet must die an early death to pay his debts and a poet, driven mad by the pain of his land, must take refuge in a foreign hospice; where Saraswati's lonely daughter must live her whole life shriveled by a sickness untreated in her youth; where a guide describes to a tourist Nepal's contributions to other lands, then departs, demanding his camera, where young men sing the songs of forts and foreign conquests, marching in parades ... In this land I am forced to say, clipping a khukuri to my tie and lapel, tearing open my heart: compatriots, nation-poets of this land, who sing the songs of my country's awakening, respected leaders of my people: if you wish, you may call me a slanderer, a traitor, but this land is mine as well as yours, my hut will stand on a piece of this land, my pyre will burn beside one of our rivers; I am forced to say, made bold by this feeling, this is a land of uproar and rumor, dig deep, and you find hearsay heaped up beneath every home, so this is a land of tumult and gossip, a country supported by rumors, a country standing on uproar: this is a land of uproar and rumor. |
नयाँ बर्षभुपी सेरचन नयाँ वर्ष नयाँ सरुवा भई आएको हुलाकेझैं झोलामा सुर्जेको एउटा पुलिन्दा बोकेर छानामाथि वैशाख हिँडिरहेछ भारी अल्छी पाइला सारेर भित्ता-घडीको लङगूर हल्लिरहेछ उसको पदचापले ट्वाक्……ट्वाक्……..ट्वाक्……..ट्वाक् निस्तेज भई आकाश पल्टेको छ न्यास्रो अनुहार पारेर बेमौसमको बर्षात बेला-कुबेलाको वादलको गडयाङ-गुडुङ आकाशलाई पखाला लागेको छ विष्णुमतीको फोहर हैजे पानी पिएर ट्वाँ सहनाइको बेसुरा ध्वनिबाट निस्किरहेका छन् हैजाका असङ्ख्य अदृश्य कीटाणुहरु मध्यान्ह दिन चर्को घाम सारा रुखहरुले आफ्नो आङ कन्याइरहेका छन् फेरि एकचोटि नयाँ वर्षआएको छ फेरि एकचोटि भित्ताको नयाँ क्यालेण्डरमा आफ्नो जीवनको भिसा झुण्डयाउनु छ फेरि एकचोटि सँगी साथीहरुको सूचि बनाउनु छ फेरि एकचोटि भयानक बमहरु बोकेर, उडिरहेका हवाइजहाज र रकेटमुनि बसेर लेख्नु छ प्रियजनहरुको नाममा सफलता, शान्ति र दीर्घायुको शुभकामना-पत्र । |
New YearLike a postman newly transferred, who carries a parcel of sun in his sack, Baisakh[18] is walking on the roof, moving with slow heavy steps, making the walls swing like a pendulum. The sun grows dark and lies down to rest with a despairing face: a downpour of bad weather, a constant rumbling from the clouds, the sky has diarrhea; it must have drunk the Bishnumati's choleric waters. From the shehnai[19] there comes a tuneless sound; cholera germs are coming, unseen and countless, at midday, fierce sunshine, all the trees scratching their limbs. So once more New Year has come, so once more I must hang my life's visa in a new calendar on the wall, so once more I must draw up a list of my friends, once more, sitting beneath rockets and airplanes bearing horrific bombs, I must write my dear ones letters wishing them success, peace, long lives. |
काल महिमालेखनाथ पौडेल भाका, भूल, दया, क्षमा र ममता, सन्तोष जान्दैन त्यो, इन्द्रै बिन्ति गरुन् झुकेर पदमा त्यो बिन्ति मान्दैन त्यो, थुप्रोमा उधिनी मिठो र नमिठो रोजेर छान्दैन त्यो, खाता जाँची सबै दुरुस्त नबुझी बिर्सेर हान्दैन त्यो ।१। राजा रङ्क सबै समान उसका वैषम्य गर्दैन त्यो, आयो टप्प टिप्यो, लग्यो, मिति पुग्यो टारेर र्टर्दैन त्यो, लाखौँ औषध अस्त्रशस्त्र महिमा देखेर र्डर्दैन त्यो, व्याधातुल्य लुकेर चल्दछ सदा मारेर मर्दैन त्यो ।२। आँसुका दहमा नुहाउँछ चिसो पानी रुचाउन्न त्यो, सुख्खा जर्जर अस्थिपञ्जर विना शैया बनाउन्न त्यो, मैलो भष्मसिवाय अङ्गभरमा केही लगाउन्न त्यो, हाहाकार सरी मिठो अरु कुनै संङ्गीत गाउन्न त्यो ।३। जोजो मिल्छ सुलुक्क निल्छ मुखमा हाली चपाउन्न त्यो थाल्यो च्वाम्म सबै चपाउन भने आहार पाउन्न त्यो, जत्ती मिल्छ उती उकेल्दछ पनि केही पचाउन्न त्यो, यै चालासित कल्पकल्प कहिल्यै खाई अघाउन्न त्यो ।४। |
An Ode to DeathIt knows naught of mercy, forgiveness, love, It makes neither promises nor mistakes, And never is it content, Indra himself may bow down at its feet, But it heeds not Indra's plea, It does not pick through the pile, Dividing sweet from sour, But checks through all our records; It never strikes in error. Kings and paupers are all alike, It picks them up and bears them away, Never put off till its stomach is filled; Medicine's cures present no threat, Like an undying hunter, it moves unseen. It bathes in pools of tears, It dislikes all cool waters, Without a dry old skeleton It cannot make its bed, It wears no more than ashes, Sings naught but lamentation. Everything is gulped straight down, To pause and chew would mean starvation, All that is swallowed is spewed straight out, Nothing is digested, through long ages, Death's hunger never sated. |
माघको खुलेको बिहानको जपमहाकबी लक्ष्मी प्रसद देबकोटा क्या खुल्यो बिहान आज ! नीलिमाले फाली सकल घुम्टो जाली ! वाल्मीकिको हृदयतुल्य व्योम निर्मलायो ! अभिराम क्या यो ! रात प्रातः आयो ! क्रौञ्चरुधिर थोर बेर नभमा छिर्बिरायो ! दिविमा जन्म ली दयाले ! करुण छन्द भै सुवर्ण ज्योति–लहर आयो ! कुँज्छन् हृदय डाली ! दर्शनभिलाषीलाई दिव्य देव प्रकट हुन्छन् उक्ले अंशुमाली ! भस्मीभूत दिन–चरी उड्छ भै सुनौला ! मानवी भविष्यको यो गाउँछ गान नौला ! एक अचल–चित्र तरुले औंला एक उचाली अमृत रश्मि नै इशार्छ, सिद्ध निज समाधिलाई लोक निम्ति फाली ! रश्मिलाई बुन्न दिन्छु दिलमा, भावजाली प्राततारा ब्रह्मा अल्पे जसले सृष्टि कल्पे एक सफा डफ्फा बकुल्ला पौडिए उज्याली ! जीवनीका गतिका सुखका जीव–पङ्ख चाली ! खोजको आरम्भ हुन्छ चल्छ जगत्, आफ्ना पयर सडकमा उचाली ! द्रुम शिखामा छवि–विहङ्ग प्रथम झरेर बसे ! गुप्त इन्द्रधनुष ध्वनिको गुन्जन गाएर खसे ! मेरो भित्र चिडिया लाग्यो कुर्लन, पङ्ख चाली । स्वर्ग झर्छ, पृथिवी उड्छिन्, हिमालचुलीमा भेटी ! चुंबिदा छन्, लाल मदिर–अधर, अँगालो हाली ! अब सँभालिएर बस्छन्, मुस्केर हेर ! साथ, प्रातःको कहानी हाली ! ऊष्म रङ्ग फाली ! सृष्टि लाउँछे वसन सुन्दर, मधुर मातले छाली ! चञ्चले भाउले चाली ! पाँच द्धारबाट घुस्दछ उदय–सङ्गीत–धारा ! पन्छी मान्छ पिंजरा सन्चो, दोहोर्याउँछ गीत ती सास ! धुस्नो सुकुलमाथि कवि छ, छिया छ पराल जालो ! एक–सिङ्गी गाई साथ लँगडो कुकुर खालि ! सुख हो भन्छौ जिन्दगी यो, किरण आँगमा हाली ! मृत्यु चिसो हुन्छ भन्छन्, तातो अमृत थाली ! झारपात भज्न लागे गायत्रीको मन्त्र, किरणतर्फ आफूलाई माटोमा उचाली ! ए वरेण्यं भर्गस् ! सविता ! प्रेर भन्छु आत्मालाई, जहाँ, छौ ज्योतिको थाली ! विनत छु, सिकाऊ देव ! जित्न मृत्यु जाली । |
Prayer On A Clear Morning In The Month Of MaghHow clear this morning is! The blueness has cast off her lacy veil. The sky is as pure as Valmiki's heart, how lovely this is, Ram's dawning. The crane's blood briefly speckled the sky,[6] and kindness was born in the heavens; compassionate verse came in a wave of golden light. Celestial gods appear to those who long with shrinking hearts to see them: the sun climbs up. A bird flies in the ashen day: it turns to gold and sings new songs of the human future, unmoving, a tree raises one finger: it points to immortal sunbeams which have attained their own enlightenment, and are flung out now for the world. With these rays I weave a net of emotion in my heart. The morning star which disappears is Brahma, who envisaged all Creation, a flock of pure cranes swims in the brightness, moving living wings of joy to life's rhythm, the quest begins, the world is moving, its feet climb onto the street. A bird of lustrous beauty came first to the treetop, it sang a secret rainbow of music, and slipped away. Within me, a bird cried out, moving its wings. Heaven descends and Earth flies up to meet on a mountain peak: they embrace and kiss with red lips of pleasure; now see them more composed, sitting smiling together, telling the tale of morning, casting forth warm colors. Creation dons a lovely garment, she deludes with her gentle intoxication and moves with a fickle temper. The flow of dawn's music comes in through five doors and the bird thinks its cage is freedom, so it sings all those songs once again. The poet lies exhausted on a mat, the net of straw is ragged, he's a lame dog with a one-horned cow.[8] We say this life is joy when we feel the sun's warmth on our bodies. Death is cold, so they say, but the sun's ageless dish is hot. The grasses chant their morning prayer; rooted in soil, they rise up for the sunbeams. Oh precious glory, oh Sun! In your presence I mumble a prayer, great plate of radiance, I bow my head. Teach me, God, to win through the net of Death. |
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