Khorampa* Poem by Suman Pokhrel

There was mela** of fogs atop
and around the hill.

Unknown that was to me
why the fogs chose the place for the mela
under the porch of sunbeams.

I chose none to ask
why the wind was blowing there
chasing the fogs.

Felt like asking
why Khorampa chose to stand ill-at-ease there.

But,
this too I asked not.

Why lives chose to be housed
in the hills of unease?
Where life sets out for a journey,
the end unknown to itself.
And
keeps going filled with wants,
towards an unknown horizon.

Then it ends, known to none.
At times being crushed under the rocks.
At times falling downhill to eternity.
At times being washed in the flood to the point of no arrival.

I asked none
why life ends in ways uncertain.

Khorampa,
yet, exists there with lives yet to drain.
No reason I sought for its continued existence.

The reason, I guess,
is just that
an uneasy rhythm of life
is more life like than an easy death.




Translated from original Nepali by Mukul Dahal and Manu Manjil


* Khorampa: A remote poverty smitten village in Bhojpur, a hill district in eastern Nepal.
** mela: a fair