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Spring, you

a metaphor
made up of two-syllables
continuously speak between
my lonely soul and disappearing heart
a melodious voice—
birds: seagulls, robin (maybe?)
send their notes at my narrow-eyed window

I lie awake
Waiting for your song
In this deaf world,
You create a new song in me.

You are my new song.

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 06.18.14)

editor's note: A sweet song to call back a disappearing heart. - mh

Kick the Moon

O Moon, sharp-edged,
Welted tangent toes,
Sharp rounds crunching
Hacks boisterous houses,
I kicked a stone: Moon created,
A monotonous life before the screen
Writing, writhing
Press two fingers
And heart will blast off
With no errors and complications,
Tear apart the last remains
Earth trembles, sky vomits;
I’m cleansed thoroughly,
Through a narrow path
This darkened vision I see
A primitive era arising,
My bones dissolve
Dark-blooded, pure;
I’ve nothing to lose but shine forth,
Is this a compulsion to love?
She offers her lips to kiss,
Oh, let me touch it and forget her!
Cross it.

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 04.04.13)

editor's note: A keyborne, moonbeam chaser tries to kiss but crosses. Press "enter" to try again. - mh

Dream cultivating

I plant dreams
On a barren hill
Muscular fit
Apparel torn
Thistles poke the dark skins
Memories unwind

Your face rectifies placid perfumes
I inherit your staunch smell

No memory lanes between us
No bridge to connect us

I planted a dream in your mind yesternight
And today you are a violent sun
Burning everything that’s within me

I’m a cactus unverified
By multiple identities

You grow into a massive tree
Bearing dreamy fruits
Whilst ragged faces swarm and surround
Picking up every emotion that you cherished
Now you own silent ears and speechless tongues
It’s a routine you fulfill
Planting dreams
Planting dreams

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 11.06.12)

editor's note: Dream planting is a human pastime; harvest our primal need. Seeds in dirt, slips of paper in dark slots, touch screen depressions of hope and intention. Who knows what dreams the fruit will bear? - mh

Death tomorrow

After the rain ceases to drop
Its drumming sobs
From that surgically opened sky
Beautifully cut, memories fly like angry butterflies,
An old man knocks at heaven’s door
Angels verify his past via their own search site,
The road is muddy and indiscreet
Trapping the feeble footprints,
I cannot trace her mad moves
The air of Kathmandu is vibrant
Acoustic colours and I almost signal the end of a century,
Clouds surround me like bad spirits
Wanting to consume everything,
The earth saddens
Flowers bend down in despair
Rocks crumble
At the coming of uninvited death,
I stare at the tired eyes of my mother
I tell her to wait for a while,
I tell her to wait for a while.

Rain weeps in my sleepy ears.

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 07.07.12)

editor's note: One can hope angel bureaucracy requires additional site search time; another decade or so. "wait for awhile" - mh

A Beginning

Beginning is beautiful
The first ray of the sun battling against the last curtain of darkness
The male dogs exercising faintly
male drivers honking, whistling, teasing female drivers
Traffic police jumping off the round-about stopping the microbus
Becoming a human shield
This is a beginning
Employers at NTC coming late for the job
Criticizing me deliberately
This is a beginning
Walking in the dusty road
Sitting in an ancient temple
An idea strikes in the mind

A Beginning is all I need,
I sang a beautiful song, crap.

I tried to rap, crap.

I became the PM of Nepal, crap.

I’ve stopped sleeping, crap.

Beginning is beautiful

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 02.26.12)

editor's note: Who says the goal is the prime objective, when the track is fraught with obstacles? Better the exhilaration from approaching the starting line. Get ready... Get Set... - mh

Modern Walls

Out in the dark
I dig, dig, and dig myself;
Stalking meagre alphabets
Revolving around them like a brainless planet
I’m a stalker
Lover of several words
A, B and C
P, T and Q
I lose sense of them
Maya says Love is Hate
Prakash says Hate is Lust

The white skin of the coughing sky
Drags on the slippery tongue
Slips, sleeps,
Suave macho!

And I laugh, laugh
Breaking all my teeth one by one
Massaging the cow’s tail
I am her unborn calf,
I am her invisible universe.
Tomorrow's sun will evaporate me.
I will tan my heart.

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 12.31.11)

editor's note: Our gasps and grunts amount to little if not perceived as the emanations of our untanned hearts. Throw out the sun block; lick the sky; put on your shades... - mh

Waiting Room

The room reflects the ferocious fluorescent tubes
Attacking the sweating palms, smiles stitched with agitating threads,
On the metallic lotus materialistic monks attain Nirvana
Twang! A feminine voice announces 698
I hand over the dreadful passport and the papers
Bearing the gruesome doubtful facade,
I smell of coffee, umbilical urine, gloomy faces masquerading
At Soho Square, I draw out two tangible breaths
One is sucked by a frog, another by a snake,
I kill the glaring eyes with the arrogant head,
And the snake with the majestic fist,
Near the caustic exit I pass the torch of madness
To another applicant,
Tremor—Himalayas laugh putting off their crowns.

London is crisp, jelly-like, melting in the childish mouth,
Twart! The children join in melodious laughter
While adults grin and hesitate to smirk,
An Indian girl looks at me and smiles: I don’t!
Isn’t she mad enough to do that?
London is full of meanings,
Behind a smile there’s a reason,
Behind a stare there’s a reason,
From the place I come we smile for no reasons,
And stare at strangers for no reasons,
We’re free like Yeti and Sherpas in the foothills of Mt. Everest,
Late in life we will peel our lives like boiled potatoes
And grow memories in the ageing soil of love and richness of life!

London is crisp, jelly-like, sweetening not refreshing!

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 11.12.11)

editor's note: No familiar Nirvana in a metallic lotus; no refreshment in our sickly sweet Western miasma. But, in the company of sherpas, we are the aliens. - mh

The Solitary Reaper

Sun is naked today. Shameless.
Last century I drew a line between us
A line that kept us apart: our breath never saw each other’s shadow,
Years went by without touching each other,
I never knew I was her lover.

The neighbours spent the last century laughing
They couldn’t weep as it was forbidden to
I was told the same: to laugh, laugh
Laugh like the shiny marbles in the naked Sky

Before I spread the butter on the bread
Toasted the pieces, opened the cursed refrigerator
Placed the pitiful plate on the tarnished table
I raised two dampened eyes and pinned it on the wrecked window
I was digging my heart to find out who my lover was
I dug for twenty years or maybe twenty-five
I must have dug since the day I was in my innocent mother’s womb
And still am I digging, digging to find out who my true love is
After gobbling the bread, keeping the butter inside the frowning freezer,
Cleaning the cluttered plate, and keeping everything away,
I dug, dug my heart and found my only lover:
It was silence and in silence did I spend my last century waiting for you.
In this century I curse you every now and then.

- Arun Budhathoki

(added 11.12.11)

The Avenger

The charmer stands outside the door, thorn-hearted, shimmering in wolf's skin.
Cupboards bear artificial children
I am the grandfather of wastes
Dump the rotten history on me
The door is hell-mouthed
Bringing in Lucifer’s legions
There’s a sound of hell
There’s a sound that pursues like hell
There’s a sound that kills you like hell

Empty is the room
Empty is the mechanical mind
Black towel hangs on the door, wardrobes stand tall shamelessly,
Black wardrobe exposes its viciousness, bed sleeps succinctly,
The uncouth carpet appears mild,
The furrowed blinds dangle showing the muddy diamonds,

The charmer sits inside the room, rose-hearted, shimmering in sheep’s skin.

Eight-eyed, eight-legged, eight-mouthed
Eight the number of hell
Slashes the petal eight times
Eight o’clock hell spreads cancer-like
I decay, decay, decay
Save me with your radioactive love.

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 09.28.11)

editor's note: I'm going to hold my plutonium lover tightly while I spray a can of aracnicide to keep that sheep/wolf at bay. Then I'm going to redecorate. - mh

The Broken Boy

Tonight I will spread the anxious flowers on the summer bed, expecting smiles rooting out in the pale morning.
This bed specially made from the trees of Nagarkot
Promises a good night rest (mommy told to never trust strangers),
I check the wardrobe to fetch fertilizers and seeds
Hurriedly, happily believing the angels protest in heavens
To ascend and sleep on this magnificent bed,
The bed turns to the guest and whispers,
‘You’re to sleep with me tonight’
The guest jumps like a happy calf
Thinking of the ascending angels,
Past 12 the bed is full of guests
With whom is the bed mingling?

The angels claim the bed to be theirs
The guest proves mathematically that everything is his: one plus one equals to one,
The bugs, cloths, coverings deny the claim

Around 3 a.m.
The bed transforms into a small boy with three candies between his innocent fingers
Runs toward the mommy forever
Forever he runs (mommy told to never trust strangers)
And that’s what he’s been doing

- Arun Budhathoki

(added 09.28.11)

The Face Keeper

I've kept your face intact, spotless, polishing it for 25 years.
I’ve kept it in the hour hand, in the monotonous creaks,
Under the dismembered shelf, on the scratched table,
Through the eye of a sewing sanguine needle
The face travels, swims, walks, flies,
The face acts like a face
The face is not a face,
Oh, yes, I’ve kept your face intact.

I’ve kept your face hidden, imprisoned, amputated it for 25 years.
I’ve kept it in the butcher’s knife, inside the mystified slaughterhouse,
Between the pig’s jaws, tinkling from the cowbell,
The sewing machine cutting and stitching the face,
Royal apparel, purple is the colour best,
I’ve used clothing chemicals, detergents, washing powders,
The face remains intact,
The face is a brutal history,
Oh, yes, I’ve kept your face intact.

I’ve nine fingers, one is an abomination,
I’ve drawn your face with that finger,
Drawn on the slopes of Himalayas, in the trails of Annapurna,
Blew it off in the dusts of Mustang,
Floated it on Koshi River,
The face is the number one stalker,
The face boasts for being evergreen, perpetual, inexhaustible,
The face is a history gone wrong,
Oh, yes, I’ve kept your face intact.

I’ve kept your face intact
And have smeared mine.

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 08.15.11)

Lake Love

On the rhythmic chest

a whisper rolls

quiet, untraceable.

Is it me or the wind
making an illegal love?

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 06.29.11)

The Mad Lover’s Song

I’m no ordinary drunkard:
I get drunk without drinking.

Your love is like
A Chinese toy—
graceful, harmless

I bought it without buying
You said it was for free
I was startled yet excited

I took the toy to my home
And locked it in the heart’s closet

I woke up this morn
And found myself dysfunctional.

A lovelorn Lilliput
Sketched his indifferent lover

He amputated her soul
And planted in the soil

It grew in splendor—
his blood poisoned its flavor

I had checked the label of
The toy that you gave me

That plant was its fragrance

This evening
A fire burns within me
I deny to be a hedonist

This toy in my heart’s closet
Is no ordinary:
It makes me to love without loving

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 05.07.11)

Ode to Footsteps

Of day’s slumber the thud of discordant footsteps
Scream like your cold embrace I loathed always
The shadow of night tearing apart the unguarded heart
The scattered yellowish leaves finally smirk for not being lonely
The cold winds twitch the bones of love
Jeering louder than sounds from brokenhearted homes

Take a knife and cut the nerves of entanglement
Nerves of this bonded love
A tree in ripening winter with naked branches
Cut it and blood rushes out without a scream

We wear our masks and pretend to love each other
While we are busy cutting our branches
Bleeding without screams

In the distance I hear the footsteps moaning, choking
Longing for love that didn’t grow
Wasn’t it you that cut the branches of love?

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 03.17.11)

Your Face is the Shadow

Your face is the shadow
That blends with mine
I would give up all I have
To get rid of it
Your face is the shadow

Your face the tracks
That balance the screaming trains
Uttering icy words: freezing the sinews
Of love. Heartbeats shudder like a dying
Fish, the fresh air killing it passionately
Your face these monstrous trains

Your face this thorny air
Dissecting the faces of brute
Spraying acid on their nerves
Now acidic men walk on the streets
I smell nothing but acidic men.

Your face is made up of stars
Uncountable, distant
Now I slumber like these acidic men
Shadows cast over the sky
Crying for futile attention and vain love.

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 01.25.11)


Coffee is black, Night tastes bitter
The sounds that howl in the ashamed streets
Cry out their parched hearts bitterly
Coffee is black, Moon shines bitterly
The ageing leaves rustle in the museum of pain
Cold visitors greet them every morning, Sun laughs bitterly
Their snowy hairs begging for that distant bitter love
Fades away in the blinding chapters of destructive century
Coffee is black, so are we.

Coffee is black, Death is colourless
Love sours--when did it have an expiry date?
In the playground metallic hands wrestle with iron legs
By afternoon the world is filled with mechanical collisions
And children ask daddy and mummy if it’s a comedy show
daddy and mummy sigh silently and say it’s so
The children grow up with that comedy show in their hearts and minds
And perform it bitterly exactly smoothly
while their children ask strangers as to what daddy and mummy are doing
Coffee is black, so are we.

Coffee is black, Progress isn’t
Progress is blue like a deep sea
Fishes consume each other men eat each other
It’s no more natural to be natural
Ideas from the caves smear truth and tie a heavy stone to it
Throwing it away into the ocean of massacre
Truth is wiped out and ideas flourish like weed
Intoxicating fragile minds that cannot reason
A group of AI rules the Kingdom and the history is lost
And no one will know because it’s black.
Coffee is black, so are we.

Coffee is black, Words are darker
Town cities nations people wear black dress
speak black language eat black food
they do everything in black
the hard-beaten stones are shovelled and misplaced
amputating the tree of faith changing the course of rivers
drinking from the well of despair
Singing harshest songs ever. No one will understand.
It’s black. No one will understand these lines.
Coffee is black, so am I.

Coffee is black, Life is darkest
People walk however they want
And claim for that blemished freedom and rights
I met a man in the Tower and asked him if he was happy
He asked me if I really did exist I said yes he said you’re black
Children in my lover’s womb question daddy are you for real
daddy is it you who did this horrible thing to us by injecting life
daddy you’re black why did you do this? you’re black
I went to the horizon of sadness and questioned the waves
Then a lost voice roared black is black and so are you
Locking the doors of humanity I believed I was black
And pretended to be black with the rest of remaining.
Coffee is black, so are you.

- Arun Budhathoki

(added 01.25.11)

A Cold Encounter

I was talking with tired winds
(they said they have become too old to howl)
When you were melting my frozen bandages
then before I could pour my wasted years in the hollow cup
You came before my vegetarian eyes as a shallow bride
And made me suck your laughing blood and smoky eyes
While I was calming my silver wounds
(they said they have become too old to howl)
You were leaving with vigilant winds

one, two
one, two

they broke ceaselessly

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 11.23.10)

A Complaint Against My Lover

I can’t handle your love anymore
I cannot

Capsized in your laughter
The narcissist slept in its
Mephitic grave

On Friday the 13th
The bonybabes
Mesmerized it to be their

I can’t handle your love anymore
I cannot

Last Halloween
The masochist revealed that
He had discovered ambrosia

“I shall make love with bonybabes
Ad infinitum
For they are meretricious”

I can’t handle your love anymore
I cannot

Last Christmas
The masochist
Turned victorious and revealed that
He was a sadist
No one got the jargon, his catharsis

I can’t handle your love anymore
I cannot

I’m jejune

I cannot handle your love anymore
I cannot
I only crave for more

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 09.22.10)

Tribute to the Smoke Girl

Between her white fingers
The soporific Marlboro
burns, burns

Staining her lips, eyes
soul, soul

And the puffs she inhales
Tow her beauty, age

Between her white fingers
Life turns to ash, ash

I stoop and amass her lips, eyes
soul, soul

And burn it at home

- arun budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 07.17.10)

Duet at Tinkune

Dull, dull are the eyes
Of Tinkune

And the hearts worse
Than these dusty roads

And the voices more earsplitting
Than these tooting vehicles, yelling conductors

I remember you, your love for me
It's never smooth, never fresh
A bumpy ride, knackered easily

Yet we love each other
Because we know bliss lies yonder

Dull, dull are the eyes
Of Tinkune

And we're not of the same.

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 05.14.10)


Not Hiroshima. Nor Nagasaki
A tender flower, serene rivulet
The soft glow of Moon
Yet it exploded

Massacring emotions
Rooting out love,

Your words like an atomic
Into this heart
Extinguishing smile,

And teardrops rained

I am the skeleton of love

Put me in your Museum
Visit my corpse
Each explosive decade...

- Arun Budhathoki

(added 05.14.10)

The Unknown Epitaph

An invisible dagger
Like a noonday shadow
Imitates the staggering

The mind capsizes
In the flooded heart,
And the light o’ the eyes
Embraces the fading sun

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 03.17.10)


This wound
O' foreign tongue
Licks me heartlessly,
I am squeezed like the sun
O' autumnal winds,
This heart is in fire.

- Arun Budhathoki

(added 03.17.10)

The Forgotten

Divorced leaves
Weave autumn in me

- Arun Budhathoki

(added 03.17.10)

Muse in Eve

Two oranges


The face o’ a dying man
Raze the feverish bluish head

On the horizon
I attend their wounds


Jangling vandalism

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 01.21.10)

Morning Madness

Tectonic mind seesaws
Like a mad wild pig
Snortin’, gnawin’
Against the burnin’ pyre

A cold star
Plunges into the ash balls
And melts with the screaming sinews

- Arun Budhathoki

(featured in the poetry forum 12.07.09)


A bit about Arun: Arun Budhathoki alias Daniel Song is a Nepalese poet, writer, and founding-editor of The Applicant, a Kathmandu-based Literary journal. Since he started writing for MadSwirl the level of madness in him is ever increasing! Thanks to MadSwirl.

You can find more from Arun at his website

Prisoner of an iPad by Arun Budhathoki

Click right here to get yourselef a copy of Arun's book "Prisoner of an iPad".