featured in the poetry forum June 3, 2016  :: 0 comments

Everything is brown
The world
The colour of her
The colour of her eyes
Lighter brown
We are brown
Our world brown too

The kisses we share brown too
Her hair brown too
Her hugs and everything brown

The stars flashes like a brownie
The road stuck between the crossroads
The signs are brown too

My fingers
The words I type
Thoughts in my mind

My skin
The air I breathe
The food I eat
The water I drink

Everything is brown

My heart is brown
My soul
My heart

She makes my world brown

editors note:

Can’t get no blues when everything is brown. – mh clay

Killing the Rapist

March 4, 2016  :: 0 comments

He buried his corpse in an open field. The evening was filled with utter silence and no living person passed the site. The sky looked perfect pale by the rays of glowing moon. Ajay dusts off his hands clapping strongly, lifts the shovel and starts punching the mud to flatten it. After finishing up he stands unmoved, overwhelmed with pride, …

Spring, you

featured in the poetry forum June 18, 2014  :: 1 comment

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.

editors note:

A sweet song to call back a disappearing heart. – mh

Kick the Moon

featured in the poetry forum April 4, 2013  :: 1 comment

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.

editors note:

A keyborne, moonbeam chaser tries to kiss but crosses. Press “enter” to try again. – mh

Dream cultivating

featured in the poetry forum November 6, 2012  :: 0 comments

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

editors 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

featured in the poetry forum July 7, 2012  :: 0 comments

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.

editors note:

One can hope angel bureaucracy requires additional site search time; another decade or so. “wait for awhile” – mh

A Beginning

featured in the poetry forum February 26, 2012  :: 0 comments

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

editors 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

featured in the poetry forum December 31, 2011  :: 0 comments

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.

editors 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

The Solitary Reaper

November 12, 2011  :: 0 comments

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.

Waiting Room

featured in the poetry forum November 12, 2011  :: 0 comments

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!

editors 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