The world no longer listens …

featured in the poetry forum May 3, 2020  :: 0 comments

The world no longer listens to
the language of calm,
the language of compassion,
the cries and agonies of the
caged, distressed, and dehumanized
innocent beings…
the autonomy of the individual
branching— into the blue firmament,
the flight of free and festive
birds of this Heaven,
the telling transience of
dancing dewdrops slipping down
or disappearing at once
from the green laps of Mother Nature,
the majestically mindful unfurling
fiddleheads… battling with
the rough winds
above the flinty fissures,
the untiring support and strain
of the roots and pedicels
of the exquisitely blooming
lotuses and dancing water lilies painted
on the canvas of mud and mire,
the dolorous call
of good souls on Earth,
the slow and painful passing of
Faith and Trust,
the bellowing shade of
humanity… No longer…
does the world listen to. And,
no wonder, they no longer
understand these things.

editors note:

Let’s turn “no longer” back to “not, yet.” – mh clay

Communing with the Self

featured in the poetry forum February 8, 2019  :: 0 comments

Only that much of the trail
is mine
which I’ll cover up
I cannot say
when the trail will stab me
from behind, when I will
a long exhalation.

Life is all in the walking,
in getting somewhere
in being found out
in the steps taken
erased in the footmarks
left behind…
Life is
a strange revelation…
a convergence
of myths and realities.

Oh the brooding Rara*
brimming way up to the sore eyes!
Oh the heart’s squelching
in deep dark of life!
Even one’s own shadow
until the bright stars appear.
Just a little beam of light
unveils the way from darkness;
and I want you to be
that light on to yourself. Illumine
the core of your being, and see
how the whole life brightens…

*The biggest and deepest fresh water lake in Nepal

editors note:

Self discovery from the journey of self. But, you have to step out… – mh clay

Fate & Destiny

featured in the poetry forum December 4, 2017  :: 0 comments

A thistledown!
A cotton fiber!
A mountain range!
Ascents and descents!
A Sisyphus!
A useless but
Beautiful struggle!
Of fate and destiny…

But hey!
Was the fiber struggling
At its own will?
Wasn’t there this playful breeze
At play?
Isn’t man— who believes in ‘destiny’—
A victim of the rootless storms?

Bang! And there was—
There came planets
From the star? Hey!!
Where did the
Stars come from??
From the void??
And if so, where did the void
Come from?!

editors note:

So many questions, right? In fear, or fun, we devise our own answers. – mh clay

I want myself back, my crescent moon

featured in the poetry forum October 22, 2016  :: 1 comment

My crescent moon, I was like you
Many, many years ago — idyllic, and free
Of dirty treads, of wounds and pain.
You’d beam bright upon my being
When I’d be down in disturbed liquors,
Pull me closer to you, my crescent moon, you’d
Create havoc in hell and heaven,
Calm me down, my crescent moon, you’d
Wake my soul up from extreme exhaustion
And I’d see you riding on dinosaurs,
Up and high in spirit to win the world,
My true warrior, you’d show myself
Calm and compassionate in the beasts’ eyes;
Oh! I want myself back, my crescent moon.

editors note:

Yes! Bring back the days when the Man in the Moon was you! – mh clay

Off the shore

featured in the poetry forum December 24, 2015  :: 2 comments

The oars are stuck
and so the boat
in this exotic high land
far away from the shore.

But no, no problem!
I’ll see to it, fix it
and go on with
rowing, rowing, rowing

to places unknown
from where I was
or where I am. There, too,
I’ll be off the shore

though far and beyond
I can see, I can see
many a river
and many a sea.

editors note:

On this, of all eves, wherever we can be, defined by whatever we can see. – mh clay

Dreams in the Kingdom of Chaos

October 9, 2015  :: 0 comments

There was a man in the kingdom of Chaos. His name was Melodious Music. He was all contrasted by the warring elements of the kingdom, by their uproars, their thundering beats and plays. He was silent, all pervading among the syllables of coarse voices, hence being-less the passers-by believed him to be. For decades there came no Columbus. And one …

Oh my eyes!

featured in the poetry forum April 11, 2015  :: 1 comment

Seven women
in red petticoat
bathing in the
slender Sali nadi—
now plunging, now
stooping over
and now patting-
squeezing their hair
as the thigh-high
holy water washes away
their sin; and my sin-
ful question to the
teeming crowd of devotees
busy on both banks
cleaning their faces
or sprinkling the water
over their heads, or
making holy
their unholy mouths (?)—
by the sip of the
same waters
running down to them
from those women’s
purged bodies.

editors note:

Cleanliness is next to body-ness! Believe what you like… – mh

Ha !

featured in the poetry forum April 27, 2014  :: 0 comments

Stray dogs
keep on barking at people
in rags, but

they just let them go
without a single further bark
if they offer them some

crumbs of bread…

Ha !

editors note:

Distracting detractors can’t dissent with their mouths full. – mh


featured in the poetry forum February 24, 2014  :: 1 comment

My days begin with short sighs
and end with a long one.

Reluctantly, I look back
at the miles completed each day.
They resemble the scribbling
of a young child. Meaningless—
like a dream lost in the waking. My desires
are red coals in a furnace. My soles—
on sharp edges— moving to re-realize
that change is like a slow, painful death.

What zigzags and circles
this life has become!
Like strands of straw entangled
on the spike of a moving bicycle,
I’m just making much noise of myself.
In the extremes of angry thoughts,
I curse and confess. I explain
to my people why I’ve been so negative.
And all they do is sigh with me!

Thwarted, my life is— a creature in a cage,
restless; a fish on a hook, gasping and giving itself
to the hookers. I see them enjoy
the dish that they turn me into. My sweat
is their salt; my weakness, their strength.
They’re black cobras that don’t stop following
even in my dreams. I don’t feel sorry but mad,
mad at these sinful souls.

They stink from afar. I see my flesh
stuck between their teeth. Their yellow teeth
that I want to yank. Their treacherous tongues
that I want to sever. Their whole system
that I want to put on fire. Shameless!
They dance a naked dance in their vanity
and lose sense of who their mother is. What,
what can be expected in these crowds of bogus people?

editors note:

Make more noise! Allow less of bogus people (except their transformation into fellow noise-makers). – mh

Pearl and pebble

featured in the poetry forum October 18, 2013  :: 0 comments

I was in search
of a pearl

while deep in my dive
I thought I got one

so soon out
I came with a long sigh—

but only to be dejected
when it turned into a pebble.

I then furiously hurled it
to the cliff nearby

and guess wha’ happened? Nothing
but a bump on my forehead!

editors note:

When in the path of your own wrath, it’s best to duck. – mh