Identity Poem by RUP POKHAREL

Let the earth be made flat
May then I see at far my esteemed part.
Let the giant peaks be shortened
So the facade of whence I’m exiled be mirrored.

Summer is dry. All I am with winter warmth
Life’s so hard; nor in gallons Manas can maketh.
Have all. But I am made- man of no land
Boss! Let thy impromptu act be redefined.

My fate may make me Blake or John Keats
Be it to second Kubar or Bill Gates
Shall shine no beam on my face,
For my righteous existence is dubbed; is on sufferance.

I prefer being on bare feet and wilted rag
Be blessed my days with all native air bog
Heart I have to have it to a ‘T’ to outline tranquility
No, for any pro tem bliss I can’t compromise identity.