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Bhuwan Thapaliya Poem
The light is drunk with the darkness of the life,
and as the dead leaf blown, hither and 'thither
by the wind, it is lurching on the eonaeon of time,
where death stalks freely as the visage of the strife.
O my love! It’s time for us to ease, the secret of our
heart, and waft them to the haven of our trust.
Let us feel the embrace of freedom in our arms,
and bury the tears in the chasm of our smiles.
Arise, O the love of my life, resolve to burn the
candle of our love, and be one, with the Sun and
Moon in our eyes, under its shade, on the balmy
couchette, in the train of our life. If however, we
abstain from our union then we would incur sin.
Alas! We ought to grieve. Besides, they will joke
of our barrenness. And for us, held in a plethora,
barrenness is worse than the death. We will fall
into disgrace. Arise, O the love of my life,
resolve to make love. Overcome your shyness,
close your eyes, and then you will see, what has
never been seen before. I bet, my love, seeing,
which has not been seen before, by anyone else
than us, we will be elated with pride, and feeling,
which has not been felt before, through our grace,
we will be blessed. We will be blessed.
How then could there be one holier than us?
Not even the sacred, “Bagmati”, that flows in our heart.
Copyright © Bhuwan Thapaliya | Year Posted 2007
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Bhuwan Thapaliya Poem
O Mother! O Mother!
Don’t scold us
for painting the sky.
Don’t curse us
for sleeping in the garden
all day long
under the blue sky bewitching.
We’re not idle.
We’re not lazy.
We’re dreaming dreams,
the poet’s dream so pure.
O, my Mother!
Allow us to kiss
the dream’s holy lips.
O how very wonderful,
O how very wonderful it is!
It’s a poet’s dream.
“Ah! What a life the poet leads!”
Playing with the thoughts,
filling them with colors
of the emotion as they change.
Poet’s as the pond,
never stagnate.
They live,
arousing thoughts
all new,
lit with the fickle lamps
of laughter and tears.
O Mother! O Mother!
Don’t scold us
for painting the sky.
Don’t curse us
for sleeping in the garden
all day long
under the blue sky bewitching.
We’re not idle.
We’re not lazy.
We’re dreaming dreams,
the poets dream so pure.
O, my Mother!
Allow us to witness
the heavenly marriage
between the oxygen
ff our dreams,
and the hydrogen
of our realities.
We are poets too!
We’ve been scaling
every mountain of pain
and sailing
every sea of happiness
boarding the plane of our dreams.
O Mother! O Mother!
Let us dream.
Buffer against stress
self- medication
We dream.
O My child!
If only I could think as you.
If only I could dream as you.
“If dreaming you are not,
dream are you yourself,” O Mother!
O My child!
Many a dream is born,
and many a dreams dies,
but life’s way eternally the same.
Life is nature’s own naturalness,
where hopes are drowned
in the sea of miseries,
where illusion is more powerful
than logic and logic than the dream.
Yet dreams are dreams, O Mother!
There is no heart where it is not
There is no mind where it is not.
Even Leonardo Da Vinci’s brush
paused momentarily on the Mona Lisa lips,
to let her dream
- to let her dream.
O’ Mother! O’ Mother!
Let us dream
together you and I
Heaven and Earth
are yet to be one.
Are yet to be one.
Copyright 2007 Bhuwan Thapaliya
Copyright © Bhuwan Thapaliya | Year Posted 2007
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