Tree Blessing

-Ruskin Bond

Grandmother often said:
"Blessed is the house upon whose walls
The shade of an old tree softly falls.
"We had no tree near our cottage
So I planted one last spring.
It's six months old now,
And growing fastIn six years time there'll be
A blessing.

The Mother's Dream (Gopal Prasad Rimal)

Gopal Prasad Rimal was a poet in Kathmandu, Nepal(1918-1973). During his adolescence, he came under the influence of revolutionaries who were aspiring to overthrow the then despotic Rana regime. Though Rimal had begun his career as a successful poet in 1930, and as a playwright in 1940, it was in 1941 that the real Rimal emerged on the center stage of Nepal's literary and political arena. In 1941, the brutal execution of the patriot Dashrath Chand and his friends fired Rimal's imagination and thus revolution became the bedrock of his creative ventures. Rimal founded a creative organization called "Praja Panchayat" to raise a voice against the suppression of Nepalese masses by the autocratic Rana rulers, and was imprisoned on several occasions for his involvement in the Movement. He played a pivotal role in making the 1950-51 Democratic Movement successful, but soon after he grew disillusioned. His dreams of a democratic Nepal were shattered as "harlots of anarchy" in the garb of democracy started dancing in the "castles of filth." Rimal lost his mental balance and was sent to an asylum in Ranchi. Later, he was brought back to Nepal to spend the rest of his life roaming insane in the streets of Kathmandu with the dream of a true democracy seething within him. Rimal died in 1973

The Mother's Dream

Mummy ! Will he come ?
"Yes, my child, he will come.
He will come pouring light like the morning sun.
You will see a weapon, shining like dew
Suspended from his waist,
With that will he fight evil !
You will at first imagine his presence to be an illusion,
And touch him with your fingers
To feel him, but he will come
More tactile than snow or fire."

Are you sure, Mummy?
"Yes, when you were born, I had hopes
To see him mirrored in your enchanting smile;
His soft voice in your lisping speech;
But that sweet song
Did not make you its flute.
You shall be he-
This was the dream of my youth.
Nevertheless, he will come
I'm the Mother, and as a mouthpiece
Of all the creative impulse,
I can say, will come he.
When he comes
You will not seek shelter
In my lap as you do now;
You will not listen to the truth
Entranced as if it were a fairy tale;
You yourself will be able
To see, bear and accept him;
Instead of listening to me in this way
You will leave for battle, giving
consolation to the inconsolable mother's heart,
I will no longer have to fondle your hair like this As if you were
An invalid.

You will see, he will come like a storm,
And you will follow him like a leaf !
In the past when he poured himself out like moonlight,
Falling down from life's sphere,
The vast immobile cosmos had wiggled.
He will come, my child,
And you will get up."
Will he come, Mummy?
As the coming dawn tickles the bird's throat
So is my anxious heart tremulous for his arrival.
"Yes, he will come like the morning sun pouring light.
Now, I get up and go.
But you shall be he-
This was the dream of my youth."

यो जीवन

चन्द्र गुरुङ

यो जीवन
बिहान सबेरै चिया गिलासबाट
आकाश छुने रहरहरू बोक्दै
बाफ बनेर उठ्छ ।

त्यसपछि केही क्षण
यता ठोकिन्छ...
उता ठोकिन्छ...
भौँतारिरहन्छ कल्पनाको संसारमा
आखिर
आफ्नो लक्ष्यमा पुग्नुअघि नै विलीन हुन पुग्छ ।

कहिलेकाहीँ म
बिरानीमा उभिएर
चिनी-पत्तीबिनाको चियाझैँ बनेको जीवनलाई
निल्छु बिस्तारै घुटुक्क...घुटुक्क...
न कुनै रङ
न कुनै स्वाद
न कुनै मीठास
केवल सपनाहरूले भोक शान्त पार्न
र इच्छाहरूका उत्ताउलो तिर्खा मेट्नको लागि ।

यो जीवन
प्रत्येक बिहान मभित्र उम्लिरहेका
नानाथरी सोचाइहरूझैँ सुरु हुन्छ
तर दिनभरिको थकान
र असफलताहरूले टुक्रिएर
हर साँझ
ठस्स गन्हाउँछ कुहिएका सपनाहरूझैँ
र तीतो अनुभवहरूको एउटा नमीठो गन्ध
फैलिँदै जान्छ -
मुटुको कुना-कुनामा ।

पहिरो

चन्द्र गुरुङ

हिजो राती
पहिरो गएछ मेरो गाउँमा
बगाएछ डाँडामाथिको गुम्बा
बगाएछ खोला-किनारको मन्दिर
र बगाएछ गाउँमाझको मस्जिद ।

तर बिहान सबेरै
लामा गुरुले स्वार्थको ँमाने’ घुमाइरहेको देखेँ
पण्डित बाजेले छल-कपटको प्रसाद बाँडिरहेको भेटेँ
र मौलवीले जातीयताको पर्खाल निर्माण गरिरहेको सुनेँ
सायद
थुप्रै बेथितिहरूलाई
पहिरोले पनि बगाउन नसक्दो रहेछ ।

हिजो राति
पहिरो गएछ मेरो गाउँमा
बगाएछ साना-ठूला घर-गोठहरू
बगाएछ गरिबका मन धान्ने हरिया खेत-बारीहरू
र बगाएछ असङ्ख्य चौपाया-दोपाया जीवनहरू
तर बिहान सबेरै
रामेको आँगनमा
घर बनाउँदा लागेको ऋण उठाउन
आइपुगेको साहूलाई भेटेँ
खेतबारीहरूमा थुप्रै सपनाहरू रोपेका
किसानहरूका आँखामा आँसु र व्यथा देखेँ
र हर घर-आँगनमा
मात्र मृत्यु पल्टेको सुनेँ
सायद
थुपै्र बेथितिहरूलाई
पहिरोले पनि बगाउन नसक्दो रहेछ ।

हिजो राती
पहिरो गएछ मेरो गाउँमा
बगाएछ गोदामहरूमा सुतिरहेका अन्नका बोराहरू
बगाएछ खेतहरूमा उभिएका लहलहाउँदो बाली
र बगाएछ थुप्रै लत्ता-कपडाहरू
तर अझै पनि
अशान्त भोकलाई
गाउँलेहरूको पेटमा अल्झेको देख्छु
निर्वस्त्र नाङ्गोपनलाई
पीडितहरूका अङ्गमा टाँस्सिएको भेट्छु

चन्द्र
थुप्रै बेथितिहरूलाई
पहिरोले कहाँ बगाउन सक्दो रहेछ झ्