Life has so many faces as words have forms.
Sometimes seeing it, I want to run and hide
but the more I run away from it, the more it
grabs my neck, and drags me back to the vicious
circle of Birth and Death-the element furnished
by the mighty lord to balance the equation of Earth.

Confused, and perplexed, I seek salvation from
the sky. But his hands, they are empty; there is
nothing left for me. Memories are the only thing
I have left to call my own, on account of its deep
and lasting human significance of the regular life
of man as man, under all the diverse aspects of nature.

I don’t know what I am feeling and don’t know
really what I want. I am lost somewhere, somewhere
inside the verses of my own poem, and I don’t know
whether to move forward, or to come back to where
I once was-drowned in the depth of her hairs
in the safe haven of her arms.

Ah! They call me a poet, but deep inside I know a poet-
I am not. A drop of verse I am in the poem of nature
all open and naked, such is my reality-I may evaporate
any time. They say, “Time never waits for anyone,” and I
know they are right. But I don’t know why I am waiting for
the time to come and stand by my side. I really don’t know why.

Time, feed me! Dip your lips over mine.
O, yes! Taste me and let me taste.
Let us drink each other in a single draught
wishing health to one another, and be
lulled by love and fall into a profound sleep,
to be painted blue in the sky,
to be painted blue in the sky.

Copyright 2007 Bhuwan Thapaliya