Hem Raj Bastola

Dawn rings
The bell of light.
In every day break,
Riding seven horses of the sun
The disc of heaven
Came out from the east.
Glittering in the waters
Of Ganga.

Here the water is not clean anymore.
Here the soul is not clean anymore.
Here the nature is not clean anymore.
The world of material greed:
Destroying the value, of spirit!
Value, of nature.

And I envision
Terror struck in a dream:
Land shake, slide and churn,
With big waves, like the fountain flush
Jumping high and resting low,
As the cataract.

Tectonic forces,
Overlap the plates and swap.
Like in the hands of a waiter.
This change in nature, inviting Shiva!
The universal, preparing to perform
His cosmic dance of death.

Here, my despondent
And salubrious appeal
To stop the end and to irradiate
The peace.

Infuriated sky,
Thundering to open: the veins of spring.
When will echo the smile
Of the earth again?

In order to acclaim the peace,
Fertile seeds of my brain,
Musing to plant the lotus
In the crescent moon.

Frivolous details
Of the regal run,
Unusual and uncommon,
An aesthetic errand
lead.

Fertile nation
Of an ingenious thought.
Gathering brainsick,
In a garret to speak:

Kinda fashion,
Outdated and erroneous,
Waiting fickle found.
Doing here and there
Restless and eager,
To be something, be new:

Milking madness,
Tip twirling aloud.
Voice unheard to sing,
The gong, inspiration:
Ring the bell.

Melody
Echoes pleasant,
Whose ears are keen
And eyes hungry,
To chew the cud.
Here the aesthetic,
Generates the obscure
Flux.

Divine
Knowledge of:
The mystical hymns.
Brewing:
Numinous breath,
To drink.

A bird,
Mythical,
Mysterious drinking:
Moonlight,
To live.

Libation,
To tantalize my god.
Immediate,
Response
Beget.

That,
Mystical fire,
Revered, to invoke;
The celestial
Bliss.

Ritual
Performance:
A holy bath,
To expiate;
The sin.

I can
See them,
In the celestial
River, dip.

The thing
That i only feel,
Asking you
To reveal:

A
sleepwalker
Lost in
Dream.

When I was:
Playing a dream
An owl in me peeping,
Night was deep and
My subconscious
Sleep.

Waxing moon,
In the sky illuminant
Growing each night.
And a flowing river beside,
Milk white, mirroring;
Pulling my eyes.

Pin drop silence,
Whistling river where:
Orchestrated molten light
Of heaven dances here
In the deep ravine.

Cold night out
Freezing, to adore
The unfiltered
First-hand experience
Of life.

In the
Cold desert,
Along with
The howling wind.
On horseback,
Galloping.

A strange
Weather beaten
Unfamiliar face,
Turning back
A grin throwing,
Continues his
Hurried way.

May be,
A herdsmen:
A Dhokpa, singing,
Making alive the air.
Pulling my ears of
Attention.

And I, lost
In his melody,
Staring till his horse,
In the vast horizons;
Of: green pastures
Disappears.

Musing
Still echoes
The tongue of:
A nomad
Ringing.

Note: Those people in Tibet and in Nepal bordering to Tibet, having a nomadic life shifting their flock of sheep, goat or yaks in the high pastures, living under the tent, are called Dhokpas.

editors note: Grin caught, attention pulled, ride on… – mh clay

I am the past,
I am the present,
I am the future,
It is the time I am living
A fruit of: my KARMA.

I am the WATER
Blood in my veins
By the heat, scalding.
I am the AIR a moving spirit
I breath. I am the EARTH,
An elemental dust
A flesh to decay.

I am the SKY,
A lurking void
Of the universe, to unite.
So, it is not me,
What I am saying “I”.

I am a product
Of a FIRE, empty
Like a living smoke.

Smoke! Smoke!!
And Smoke!!!

Whirling,
In a nightmare,
I awake.

Living
Subconscious,
In the unconscious
Hours of sleep.
A thought in me
Was eager
For: beauty.

Her face is:
A red apple,
With a juicy bite,
I realize.

Romantic
Depth of night
Where your shy lips
Were shivering
But the smile
Was attractive.

When,
I fondle you,
Your coy smooch;
Attacks tenderly.
As you huddle me,
A pair of clementine,
Ask me to peel.
They were
So soft.

And
A sweet,
Recondite,
Juice of night
You serve;
to my thirsty
Soul.

A hook in the eyes,
Fishing a dream.
Enthralled, pulling: a rope
To net your mute beauty
Unmatched, climbing high
To harvest on eyes.

In the vacant horizon I play,
Reading every silence.
Find you are my life, when I am alone.
There you stand in front,
What is that of you?

Unreserved, planted deep,
A memory; missing: I cry.
Recurring dream of a foreign beauty
Haunted deep flying high.
I walk alone,
In a lonely street.

Tickling my roots of:
Involuntary sleeping nerves,
rubbing on a flint you spark.
The fire of: your beauty,
That you ornament and
The shine on your face,
Paralyze my mind.

Grinding,
In a vortex,
Flour of my mind,
Dough, and spin.
Loosing free the skeins
Of: a thought.
Experience ink.

Reminded
Memory of the day,
Like Hydra walk.
Looking for veins to suck
Needle my skin.
Stranded I walk bleeding,
As you ravish me
On the way.

Blood,
That coagulates
On my feet, slimy
and slippery, I end:
With spindle yarn
Of leeches: a rein
Controlling my
Evacuated brain.