Poem | |
NEPAL FrOm My heart
FRom the peace and progress,
Of life and humanity
to say we our pride and honour,
to respect the country and
make the country reputed and feel
like that we are one , the Nepalese
to every obstacles and challanges to face,
and We Brave Gorkhalis never bend our head
to any unless they dont go,
We, Nepali To feel every second on the earth to become a
shining country, the Only one in the hearts of the every Nepalese,
NEPAL! NEPAL! NEPAL! NEPAL! Believe me
By Diwash Sharma
More great poems below...
Poem | |
In streets, roads, louding with a loud voice for living
waiting for someone to give money by throwing
is this the life the god gave
if they became beggar why couldn't I
Nothing matters how wealthy or poor i am
just fascinated with the beggar's slam
so much sad and stressful moment i dont' like to see
their children can't go to school because they have no money to give fee
AMerica, Britain, New York, Nepal Spain, GErmany, India, Etc
From which part are you it doesn't matters
it matters how much respect do you give to beggar
don't laugh at them
Don't know if the day come to us to be a beggar..... DIwASH SHARMA NEPALESE
Poem | |
I wish I had time for poetry and plays
My mind allowed
As I watched the same aged, bespectacled monk
For about the fifteenth time this month
Patter his bare feet
Upon the pavement
Of the dust filled lane.
Leaving me again
Broken shards of yesterday
In a faraway land that reminds me of
Secret Pacts made
In the time when
Getting too busy was never an option.
These the promises
Made in Nepalese skies
below the Lost Horizon
Of the Dalai Lama
I could not see
The coming years that would
Like over ripe plums.
Nor the red Lama
Perched on an Annapurnan cliff
Red ribbon round my
Wrist and soul.
There they lay.
Meditations that never were,
Given by Siddhartha, Confucius and, even a carpenter, from
The Middle East.
They have even appeared
In soiled books,
Ashrams on the Ganges,
Scribbled on bar room napkins and
Where are these ruminations now
As the pages stick
Like books rarely read
In a villages unseen
By streams only heard
When all I want
Is a little respite
From the traffic
Next to the lane
That is just beside my patio
Where that same monk will
Rise up early,
Don a saffron-gold robe and greet dawn
Both eyes smiling?
2006 (Chiang Mai, Thailand)
Poem | |
As the bus rode
through the molting pine forest and
the crumbling ochre rock formations;
bits of colorful cellophane litter brought the only relief to the eye.
Inside, behind a profusion of people,
boxes, backpacks and assorted baggage
The bus creaked, shook and groaned
its way down the serpentine,
asphalt, mountain track.
Passengers chattered away in Indian, Nepalese, Danish and English,
a Universal discourse;
As the vehicle draped from roof to bumper,
careened from rock walls
to sheer ledges, beeping.
Stray pets and wayward cyclist dodged its downward flight
Into the valleys maw.