- Books, Literature, and Writing
Poetry: Unanswered Love
In this poem I contemplate about life and death, love and hatred, passion and aversion. In one word, I contemplate on dual nature of mankind. This is about me, about you, about this world we are living in. This poem was composed in snippets. I wrote these lines when I was in a bar, in a restaurant, in a coffee parlor, in the kitchen, before I went to sleep, right after I woke up; every time I was hit by an idea, so to speak. Birth of my poetry depends on my whim.
For long time these epigrams were left discarded. When I found them, I arranged in a single title. Some of the parts were published earlier, on hubpages of course, which I withdrew couple of months ago.
A cigarette smouldering
A whiskey glass
Life in ashtray – an ashtray life
Into the smoke I manifest
Life inside the glass
Breathing in fire
Breathing out ashes
I cannot wash
The smell of smoke. Reek of whiskey.
I watch emotions unfold
Turn the pages
And see you
Like the warm sun
In the winter
As the clock ticks
Shaking naked branches,
Rattling like the fragile bones.
Hollowed like a tree. Empty like a shadow
What am I to do when my hands tremble
I cry for nothing more than loving you
If you had not gone
I would be by your side
I am lost
But my voice will not reach you
I peel a layer
Of an onion
Layers after layers
Of pain, suffering, anger, affliction
Adoration. Expectation. Attachment
Crowd. Din. Hullabaloo
A fine mess!
There is no use of the earth
The sky far away
Did you see
Layers of onion unfolding
I rub the stub
Break the glass
And enter into the coffin
- Mother! O Mother
For nine months she accepted pangs and woes to nourish and tend her child.
- Poetry: You and I
Poetry about love and longing. A journey of a lover into the world of love.
- Poetry: Illusion
When love is unfounded and loneliness grips, love becomes Maya, the Hindu word for illusion. Poetry about illusion and delusion.
- Haiku: Father
Haiku inspired by everyday conversations. An illustrative note on how to compose haiku
Twelve years ago, I asked a guy to read my poems. He was an MA in English Literature and a teacher in a school. This was the first time I had allowed anyone to read my works. Two days later he called me. “It’s okay you write in English, but I suggest you to translate all these poems into Nepali language and submit to publications,” he said. “You must be accepted locally before trying to get published in foreign language.” He had a point.
I had composed some poems in my mother tongue, which I thought were better than English compositions. I adapted some of my best poems in Nepali and began submitting to the literary magazines and journals. I did not find any luck.
In 2000, I published my poetry collection titled “You and I.” This anthology of Nepali poems encouraged me to see myself as a writer/poet. I even got an invitation for a literary event. By this time I was again thinking to publish a poetry collection in English. I sent my poems to a publisher in India. My partial submission was well reviewed and they asked me to submit the entire work.
They did not contact me again.